Brianne

This deeply beautiful and touching blog entry was written by Brianne, originally for her own blog, Magdalena’s Revenge. She feels it best noted that, while there is nothing inapropriate in her blog, she does occasionally use colorful language. ;)

Monday, August 28, 2006
Me

Right now, the streets are slick with rain, the sterile lights above the pavement cast an empty, silent glow over the puddles making the water glitter. It is late and D is already asleep, though I have left his side only seconds ago. In the shower I wondered to myself as I watched the double-lined shadow of my breasts on the wall turn slowly with my movements, what exactly have I given myself credit for in my lifetime? I notice these shadows and think only of how much lower they fall now that I am a mother. But I forget so easily that this body has protected 2 of the most amazing creatures I have ever seen, brought them into their very existence. It has been abused until it could only silently scream out, giving those animalistic signals that it was in danger. The face went pale, the body limp, the sight black, and yet, it came back around to me. It came back not for me, but to me. What have I done with it to show my appreciation?

These lips parted and whispered out words that meant something to someone, they live alone to kiss the round, elastic cheeks of my children. These fingers have been hurt, rolling hot wax over and over onto strands of hair to make money. They have typed and written the endless dialogue, a fair representation of what is inside this mind. They have gotten the point across, most of the time. They have caressed injury, and have made fists in anguish. They have grasped the bars of a hospital bed and clenched in pain; desperate, unfathomable pain.

These eyes have seen it, they have seen the beauty of a moment, what it can bring. They knew from the instant they saw one of those moments, life would be different, and they were right. They have watched too much news and have cried for other people. They can’t lie, and they don’t try to. They are older than I am and they are getting tired of me.

These feet and legs have stood, swollen and bloated until blue-purple explosions came forth, telling the story of my stance; working until days before I was due. They have stomped like a horse trapped in a stall, trying to get the blood to flow, to get the feeling back. They have trembled in nervousness, they have held me up when I thought that something non-physical could crumple me to the ground. Emotions can’t break them, they have stood and stood and still, they stand.

This hair. What can I say? It had been controversial at best. It has been all different colors to reflect my moods, it has been gone, absent from class. It has been trying hard to grow, and I kept stunting the process. It has taking it’s lashings, and now it is long and falls softly over my shoulders in appreciation. It has hidden my face, covered those eyes,one finger tangled gently in a thinking position while I wrote. It has been a compliment to me on several occasions, by people who don’t know what it’s like to really have hair like this. I always say I hate it, but I am secretly in love with it. I take it down from it’s wrap and press the still-wet strands to my nose, inhaling the scent of my shampoo. I dangle it
over the baby and play peek-a-boo with it, wondering why I ever disliked it. I lay above D, and let the strands tickle his nose until he blows them away with his mouth.

These ears have heard the flurry of activity when my sons were born. They heard D announce that they had arrived, and heard the first crackling screams. Life hurts and I have heard it. I have heard laughter of all kinds, I have been laughed at. I have heard all 5 breaths that belong to this house, a communal heaving, and it has put me to sleep. I hear D snoring from the other room.

These breasts have been pulled, pinched, bitten, and pierced. They have been swollen with milk, they have been punched, they have been fallen on top of and manhandled. They have been pressed on,up against, and rolled over. It’s a wonder they haven’t figured out how to scream yet.

My stomach has been shrunken, expanded, overfilled, smashed by a uterus, and pummeled by bullies. It has been slapped and smacked, it has been caressed and kissed, starved even, and it has still come back to me.All of it has come back to me. Lucky, lucky I am for this body.