His crab cherry toothpaste- tasting forehead
Is no match
For His Eyes
Have Curling Lashes
Bouncing back Waves... of Love
Sent through my Gaze
Day-dreaming into him
His lips- Voluptuous
Like his African ancestors'
Forced onto my continent in chains.
2012, he speaks-
His boy lips are FREE
"¡Te quiero, Mami!"
He is my son
Mixed-blooded Indigenous one
Who I bore through my vagina
Born in Full-squat
He is the Essence of Passion-
Love between a man with dreadlocks
Below his buttocks
and his Indigenous Queen
Now, an Indigenous Mother
As he lays on my shoulder,
Three and a half years old-
STILL in fetal position
I kiss his Crab cherry toothpaste-tasting forehead
Licking my lips-
so PROUD I made this.
Reading birth stories helped prepare me for my births. As touching as they were, I longed for a compilation of birth stories by those wh...
http://indigemama.com/ Creative visualization during vaginal steams. Blossom OC , Huntington Beach. http://indigemama.com/ ...
My pregnancy journal holds my most intimate emotions, dreams, thoughts and plans. It is a capirotada of expression, containing: to-do li...
My first son, and I, still connected via umbilical cord. I remember the words of my abuelita as Akinyemi descended from me and ...
Breastfeeding is taboo in this western culture, so nursing someone else's baby is something many of us have never seen. In some traditi...
Drawing of my belly from my womb journal, while pregnant. My mother was always ashamed of her flat belly full of stretch marks. She di...
My father was the parent who nurtured me with stories, baths, brushing my hair, outings and jokes. Naturally, in adolescence, I gravitated ...
Monday, July 30, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
|My husband is his own boss. Why can't I be his boss?|
|En la playa con amigos.|
Tuesdays- Park and Vitamin City.
Wednesdays- Play date at Gloria's.
Thursdays- Park, Library.
Fridays- Farmer's Market.
That's the kids. Then, there's the Cafe, my Husband, Womb Wellness clients, Doula clients, my collective of Indigenous healers, my family, friends, blog, a score of internet programs I'm enrolled in, and social networking sites (how'd that make it on this list?).
My husband and I had a "discussion" (I'm trying to use positive language) about how I need to focus on being more productive. Trying not to take it personally (one of the Four Agreements), I agreed with him, and now find myself wading in a swamp of I-guess-I'm-disorganized-after-all.
|Watching Zumba at our Farmer's Market|
I tell my clients, "Illness comes from excessiveness": too much stress; too little sleep; too much bitterness; not enough water, etc. Well, I need to let go of the perfect mom fantasy I have going. I can't stay with them 24/7 and not go crazy, I can't let my husband bring in most of the cash, so I can ferment everything, cook from scratch, homeschool, and be super mom. Most of all, I can't keep ignoring my husband's need to be around his boys.
There comes a time when a strong mujer must take what her husband says and actually value it. It's a struggle being in a relationship with a man. It's easier to take my anger out on male privilege instead of look at the bigger picture. It's tough to ask myself if I smell the stench of patriarchy in my kitchen- or whether it's my emotional baggage from internalized oppression.
As generations of colonialism plays Jedi mind tricks on me, and I struggle to figure all of this out, I express gratitude. Thank you, Sherman, for your diligence. Thank you, Panquetzani, for being a skeptic. Gracias, niños, for loving your parents unconditionally, while we get our act together. No matter how life changing a "discussion" is, it's nice to remind myself that we both have our children in mind, that I rock, and my Hubbie is pretty okay, too.
|Visit to the Museum, in the kids' area.|