Author’s Note: Wow. What a fucking year! I have been away for most of this year through a conscious decision to focus on both my mental and physical health and well-being. I hope you all have been doing the same - taking care of yourselves. I wish you and yours love, happiness, laughter and good health in this new year. Here’s to 2021! May you enjoy some Simone and Maxwell sweetness as you ring in the new year!
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I wake with a start and before I can even open my eyes, I am greeted by the intense burning sensation in my chest. I look over at the clock and I see that it is 2:47 a.m. and I am up again with TERRIBLE heartburn. I quietly sit up in bed - taking care to not wake my sweet Maxwell - and turn on my bedside table lamp to search for some instant relief. Soft white light counters the darkness, illuminating my side of the bedroom, and I am almost overwhelmed with tears at the small, yet significant, gesture by my husband.
“I thought you might need these. Love, Max,” is the note that rests in front of my approved heartburn medications. How does he always know what I need? I reflect on this question as I open and pop two of the fast-acting tablets. Maxwell never ceases to amaze me, even with the small things. My onion. I look to my left and see Maxwell. My lover, my best friend, and the love of my life is laid out on his back in an open stance and is softly snoring. I’m instantly jealous. My husband has such a sweet spirit that he smiles when he sleeps. If only I could be that peaceful when sleeping. I am a bed and blanket hog and in another life, I am convinced that I was a contortionist given the unusual positions I wake up in. My heart swells when I see the smile on his sleeping frame. I lean in to kiss him on the cheek and tenderly run the back of my hand down the side of his sleeping face, which only broadens his smile. I see so much of our baby girl Zora in his features.
Speaking of Zora, since I’m awake but waiting for the medicine to kick in before I can return to restful slumber, I decide to get out of bed and check on her. I discreetly shift out of bed and our bedroom to creep down the hallway to Zora’s room. At her door, I am greeted by a photo of Zora Neale Hurston, whom Zora is named after and I silently chuckle. Before I enter her room, I reflect on the conversation Zora, Maxwell, and I had some time ago regarding the legacy of and how we decided on her name. This inspired Zora, hence the photo, and also made me tear up a bit. Zora is the good that I hoped for in this world. You know that saying in Black households, “This baby has been here before!” That is our Maxi; my child has been here before! At seven, she has more kindness and sense than I do at my current age. Zora’s temperament more closely mirrors Maxwell’s, but occasionally, her momma will peak out. Those are Zora’s petty and sassy moments. What’s funny, is that those moments typically peak out at me and only me, but I take it in stride as I hope it demonstrates that I represent safety and authenticity for my child.
I enter her room and am met with another dose of my personality. I don’t know how this child is comfortable! Her slender frame is cocked in a most unusual position. Apparently, Zora was also a contortionist in a past life. Zora is laying on her back and her head is almost off the bed, with her legs bent to the left and her left leg laying on her right leg, yet curved in the direction of her butt. Her body is at an angle that looks like both her neck and back will be in pain tomorrow if I leave her in this position for the remainder of the night. I leave her laying on her back, but I gently shift her head back on the pillow and stretch her legs straight. As I am doing this, this child does not stir. Not a once. She is dead to the world. Another trait of mine. I lean down to kiss her forehead. “I love you, my precious Maxi,” I tell her in a low voice as I retrieve the cover from the floor to lay across her body and retuck her back into bed. Standing up straight after being satisfied that my child will be pain-free tomorrow, I wordlessly expel a large yawn. Luckily, I decided on the fast-acting medication and am already starting to feel some relief.
By the time I return back to our room, it is 3:09 a.m. Maxwell is still laid out on his back asleep, smiling per usual, and I can see the deep and steady inhale and release of his breath. As I stand next to our bed and peer down on him, I’m realizing that the burning pain I felt from my heartburn has subsided and in its place is a warming sensation instead. I am now experiencing a different heart burn, this being one that blazes as a result of my deep love and adoration for Maxwell, our life together, and our continually growing family. I rub my protruding swollen belly with both hands and release a soft sign of contentment that turns into another fierce yawn. I walk around to my side of the bed and slide in. Without missing a beat, Maxwell’s sleeping form instantaneously pulls me into his embrace and I rest my head on what is now three hippo tattoos located near the corner of his right breast. The original, which is symbolic of his mother, and the two additional that he added in honor of our children, Zora, and our yet unnamed baby.
He is my home. His embrace represents love, safety, and protection. It is through his warm embrace, that I feel more relaxed and allow the call of sleep to beckon to me. This is my favorite type of heart burn.
Oh.my. GAWD @blackcoffee85 !! I love every single word of this! I think though that my favorite part is that Zora is named for one of my favorite authors (Their Eyes Were Watching God hits hard girl). I love this and I love this version of the Beaumont family. I can’t wait to find out what the new baby will be called
