A couple weeks later, we’d come to an agreement. BD would let go of his
apartment and move in with me. He’d already begun spending most of his time
there. For all his over zealousness and what I’d come to know as an
obsessive-compulsive disorder, it really does cut both ways. As absolutely
erratic and inconsolable as he can be when he doesn’t get his way, raving until
the opposing party concedes, he is equally tenacious about committing himself
to a task. He was baby proofing the house, comparing safety ratings of
strollers and car seats and planning a nursery theme before I was even showing.
(Red, black and green. Yes, really).
Lemme just sidebar this: When I told him those were
inappropriate colors for a baby’s room he insisted that I was brainwashed and
had believed the lie the white man had told me, that black is ugly and drab and
evil. This convo kicked off when he brought home a black hamper for the baby’s
room and I reacted in disgust.
And though we’d skirted around and finally tabled the whole
marriage issue, we did decide to introduce our union to his parents as if we
were engaged. They were very strict and very religious and BD feared banishment
for procreating outside of wedlock. The least we could do was be “planning” a ceremony.
I had to face the judgement of my family, too which was also
no easy task, but required a lot less preparation. I blurted it out over
Thanksgiving dinner, sending my mother screaming from the table, my younger
sister erupting in a fit of laughter --”Get the eff outta here! That nigga got
you pregnant? Hahahahah!” (In her defense it was in-part
nervous laughter. The rest, just erily evil. -- And the others of the clan, my
older sister, aunt, uncle, all stunned, forks still and mouths dropped. I’d
ruined dinner.
But that wasn’t the most dramatic display. The acting award
belonged to BD and myself as we sat on his parents’ couch, explaining to them
that though we had “strayed” and done
things the wrong way, we were in love and determined to make it work. We would
be married in one year. (and this is the first time I’m
meeting these people). But BD had made sure I was ready.
“Can you take your contacts off before we go to my parents?” he’d asked. I’d
looked at him in disbelief, but he was serious. I could see it meant a lot to
him, so I agreed. I changed tops, too. The one I was wearing apparently was a
little snug. It would be the first of many such requests-turned-requirements.
The entire thing was a dramatic enactment from the
beginning. Noble, but not real. As long as the two main characters understood
that, I saw no harm. And moreover our living together would allow for our baby,
at least in the beginning, to have the benefit of both of us. For me, that
outweighed any of the cons my family and friends kept bringing up.
“Having a baby is no reason to move that man into your
house,” my older sister had warned. “You didn’t get pregnant on purpose but you’re gonna purposely compound the problem?"
Her child’s father is not the easiest person to deal with
and she was going through it with him and his lawyers. Her opinion was skewed.
I would never be in a situation like that. I would have a family.
“You’re not the same. I feel like you’re changing ... he’s
changing you,”Ayana said out of the blue one
day on the phone. Why? Because rather than complaining about his crazy antics,
I'm defending him? He's my baby's father. Does no one seem to understand this?
What the hell is she talking about? I am changing. My hormones are going crazy.
I’m growing a person.
And when my mother came to visit and couldn’t find any
suitable breakfast meat in the fridge that morning -- no bacon, no sausage,
nothin. LOL -- she knew something was wrong. I’m a Midwestern girl but the fam
is from the south. Breakfast is a big deal.
“Mel, what dyou eat for breakfast?”
she asked. As if there was no such thing as cold cereal. (LOL. I laugh now
because I had sausage, eggs and grits for breakfast this morning, as did baby
boy :) and I can hardly even wrap my mind around how this dude had me eating
cold cereal. Nuts).
In a heart-to-heart later she told me, amongst other things,
“I feel like you’re losing yourself. Do you feel like you’re losing yourself?”
What the hell is that? Losing myself. Why couldn’t anybody
see, this was me being responsible, doing the right thing, sacrificing what I
might want for the needs of my child. I’m becoming a mother. Doesn’t that
transition inherently call for a certain degree of setting aside self? Besides,
pork isn’t good for anybody anyway.
It would be months, I think before I’d recognize the
sacrifices I was making in my futile attempt to make us work. Even longer
before the resentment would become palpable and my protest evident. But we’re
not there yet.
First, we’d have to make the announcement to our two effed
over friends, Digital andSerita.
Karma is a bitch.
Originally posted on
March 4, 2008
No comments:
Post a Comment