E's flowers

My son brings me flowers. Every afternoon, his tata (babysitter) takes him for a walk in the nearby playground. He meets his posse there, and they conjure battles of laughter and castles of sand.

Some days, I creep up to the fence and spy on him, unaware of me in his carefree frolic. He then senses me, somehow, and he laughs running to me, bewildered.

Every day, he returns home from the playground with a sweaty wad of wild flowers for me. The first thing his melodious little voice squeals as he bursts through the door is ,"Mamma, fiorellini per te!," mommy, little flowers for you. Every day, the same sweet ritual: we toss out the dead ones with a kiss and replace them with the new ones in a small Moroccan shot glass filled with Roman, mineral-rich tap water. Every day, my son brings me flowers. My son, mio figlio. Anyone who has kids, knows what it feels like every time those two words surface on our lips. A whispered miracle.

This is a small note I wrote upon discovering I was pregnant with E, my son. In the 9 months of pregnancy I left it suspended and came back to it occasionally, updating its contents, and finally wrote the ending the night before my scheduled C-section.

I smile now, re-reading it. It is a child speaking to another.

A miracle happened, it was that afternoon of sun, love and tears, the last time I made love to your father.
That's when you happened. When you chose me.
Sun, ocean, light, ecstasy, words of love and promises of memory.
Africa blessed us.
The sky smiled.
The wave crashed.
The flowers winked.
A gust of wind moved the branch.
A distant seagull soared and brought the plan of you.
Dropped you off in my womb and life began within me.
My nipples are not burnt-sienna.
My bump doesn't sport the dark line down the middle.
My skin is incredibly soft now. My nails, falcon talons. Hair silky and smooth.
The libido's subsided, I thought I was going insane at one point.
The hunger has shifted from sex to food. I want lots of it now, and all smothered in butter. I crave not chocolate, but frothy Guinness.
I pee every 30 seconds.
My ankles swell and my lips are constantly chapped.
But I love it.
I love feeling as you move within me. A flutter of bird's wings.
I love seeing you on the ultrasound screen, turning away and showing the doctor your wee ass.
I love you, E
I have become secondary. You, my promise, have won first place.
You are my happiness and my worry.
I have always been afraid of pain, of needles, of disease, terrorized by the unsung spasms of labor.
Now I live to avoid you pain.
You will be a man, one day.
A wonderful man. One who brings flowers.
I'll try to make you happy. Show you the beauty of life and the world whole.
I'll always be there for you. Mio piccolo cuore.
You are the most important part of me. My reason. My life. My completion.
My son.
I smile every time I think of you. Your every slight move, makes me laugh out loud.
Are you speaking to me, from inside?
Are you comfortable?
Are you bored? Are you warm enough in there?
Do I crush you when I sleep, rolling to one side?
Do you have feelings?
Do you love me?