Good Intentions

I held my chubby 8 week old mixed Barbados baby, with the cupie eyes and a smile that stopped traffic. I dressed her in hip little clothes, and drooley women pinched her cheeks.

'Is she yours?'.

'Oh, she's gorgeous! Where did you get her?'

'You better tie her legs together, honey, she's gonna be trouble.'

How vulgar is that?

Errands took hours.
Back off! There are plenty more where she came from, cuz the blue eyed blonds seem to be in short supply.

After 5 years of baby boycott, of being unable to attend anything even slightly related to a fetus, cuz I'd run crying out of the room, and praying that Otis would do some kinda karma turnabout to drop her in my arms. Yeah, I took her. I held her like Mary.

After I gave Heidi away, waay after, I clawed my family together, one by one, and Otis brought in the heavy artillery. After giving away the only biological child I'd ever have at 16. No one will tell me no. Otis says babies are His way of tellin' us the world should go on.

My son flew back to Florida tonight.

On my three hour drive home, I listened to a nifty British narration of a well crafted mystery.

Many miles tell a good story.