You Don't Have To Be Polished
Little white mineral marks dot her gravestone.
Remnants of the first rain.
I scrub it with water and vinegar.
Why won't they come out?!
Memories flood of milk-stained shirts
and cookies in the cracks of the carseat.
Frustrated then as I am now.
I will mother through messes eternally.
Another life grows in my belly.
I look at the ultrasound.
The imperfections of my uterus
eclipse the beauty of the new life growing.
People look at me funny when I share the news.
Happy news is easier than bad news.
I still sense them holding their breath
for fear more grief's to come.
I want to wipe it off, like those spots on her gravestone.
The spot on me that makes people sad.
That reminds them of their deepest fears.
I don't want to be the one who sorrow follows.
I look at her picture.
Yogurt all over her face and arms and legs.
I wanted her to use her spoon by herself.
I wondered if other moms would judge me.
Messy in the mud puddles.
Messy in the finger paints.
Messy crayon marks on her table.
We were quite the mess.
That's the way you parent, Kel.
I hear Jesus say to me.
You embrace the mess, and it's beautiful.
You don't have to be polished.
Maybe those spots aren't so bad.
Milk and rain stains and trauma and joy.
They can all be there.
Because I'm beautiful.
"Then the Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground. He breathed the breath of life into the man’s nostrils, and the man became a living person." - Genesis 2:7
P.S. If you're curious, after talking to three different groundskeepers, a grill pumice stone did the trick to get the mineral marks off of Julia's gravestone. My mother heart felt so satisfied. But I am glad for the lesson it taught me even before I got it cleaned up.