Langston: Knowing

Having a baby is more than interesting. It's more than cute. It's more than congratulatory. It's fascinating! It commands and demands my interest in ways almost nothing else has. It makes me want to know more, learn more, and do more for myself and for that one inside me whose active limbs force the skin on my stomach to push up when I'm lying in bed at night and to push forward when I'm sitting at my desk at work or standing on line in the cafeteria waiting to purchase Langston's and my morning fruit bowl and bottled water.

I'm sure he doesn't know it, but he forces me to reconsider, at most times, a morning cup of hot chocolate or afternoon bag of Swedish Fish that often bellow out to me to add them to my daily calorie in-take while subtracting a few dollars from my savings.

I'm sure he does not know or even care about the very careful steps I take as I walk on the icy ground the snow and cold weather place.

Sometimes I sit and wonder if he's okay, but when I feel a kick, a hit, or any kind of movement from Langston, it's oh, such a happy day.

It's a wonderful thing to possess a name for someone whose existence you weren't aware. Jason and I naming Langston is a beautiful reflection and reminder of how our Creator has given us His name. Knowing what it is and being able to identify Him is such a beautiful thing just like knowing that our baby is a boy and not just a boy but baby boy Langston. There are so many baby boys, but there's only one Langston for us.

Life's Not Fair - Getting Over It

My Fairytale

At this point in my life, I thought I’d be a high profile book publishing executive living the life in New York City. I thought I’d be married with a big house and a classy, jazzy wine colored Jaguar to match my style. I imagined that I wouldn’t have a financial care in the world. My student loans would have been at least half-way paid off by now. My cute little baby girl, Zora, would be wearing the cornrows I braided into her hair and sporting the cute little friendship bracelet I learned how to make when I was her age. 

My Nana would have lived to see her grandchildren graduate from college and would have shared all of her wisdom with me and little Zora. She would have lived long enough to see me mature way passed what she witnessed of me before her Spirit moved on. I would have been able to tell my Nana that I love her in a way that she understood that I understood many of her life’s lessons and struggles because of my own personal experiences.

I was supposed to graduate and get a 'good' job and be on it for at least a decade, choosing to leave if I wanted just like everyone said I would. My life up to this point would prove this theory correct, and I would still believe in the fairy tales Anita Baker mentions in her song. 

My Reality

I am married in Michigan, living in a nice condo with my husband and two young boys. I work part-time as an administrative assistant for a well-respected professor at a local university. I owe more now on my student loans than I did when I graduated. Instead of cornrows and girly friendship bracelets, my parental pleasure is playing the Wii with my boys.

My Nana is not here to see me grow and give me that calm wisdom, BUT, I hear her in my mind and see her in my hands and in, my son, Sidney’s mannerisms at times. Even while writing this blog, my husband, was perusing through television channels.  He stopped at Harry’s Law, and one of the characters introduced herself as Nancy Jones, my Nana's name. This happened while I was writing the third sentence of the second paragraph of this blog (which I have posted way after the airing of the show). So, I know that, although my Nana’s not here with me physically, she’s here in Spirit. 

From all of this, my conclusion is that life is absolutely fair; and I’m getting over it and being thankful in the process. Not fair IS fair.  I am getting over it!  Being thankful has become my focus, especially for those metaphysical qualities that we all possess. For the physical does not last. 

(This is dedicated to you Nancy Jones, my Nana. Your physical is gone, but those intangible lessons you gave last for lifetimes. Thank you.)