Saturday, July 13, 2013


I am officially thirty-seven.  Belle and I celebrated my birthday obtaining foods as organically grown as possible.  We skipped the sugary store bought cake in favor of homemade brownies, milk chocolate covered biscuits and peach cobbler.  We also went wine tasting (I drank!), hula hooping (in public!) and dancing to live bands (a delicious cover of "When The Levee Breaks").  We celebrated a friend's contribution to an art exhibit and a neighbor's new yoga studio.  Then Belle climbed atop a table at a restaurant and yelled with glee in a public space.

Belle wouldn't touch me for about ninety minutes, long enough for me to get a henna tattoo and an engorged breast.  She climbed from mom to mom, totally unlike her.  I let others look after her since she seemed so connected to her environment.  I couldn't get past the wild screaming of celebration, delight and joy.  Others may have mistaken it for being disruptive, which is something I wanted to connect to my own mother about, especially on the anniversary of my birth.  Without anything to compare it to, I feared it would always be like this, with Belle screaming and standing on tables in public. Belle came to life on my birthday and stayed in very rare form.

I hit a wall at the end of my birthday, figuratively speaking.  With Belle asleep in my arms, I really felt the urge to connect with anyone lucid connected to my parents.  That didn't seem possible.  My Facebook quickly flooded with current events, including the verdict of a major murder trial, the death of an actor and a stunning victory for a star athlete.  I couldn't reach out to anyone in the way I felt I needed to.  I eventually turned my attention toward sports radio and away from my shrinking phone tree.  There is damn good reason why I am in this moment alone with Belle now.  I just don't know what that reason is.

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