A Tale of Two Mamas

Once, there were Two Mamas. 

There was Mama Then - scared and shriveled, washing her hands for the 112th time in an hour because she accidentally brushed up against the rose bush in front of her neighbors house, while making a mental note to tell her neighbor to trim the fucking thing because plants have germs and may be poisonous, who never had time to meet a friend for coffee because not even GOD was qualified to babysit, who measured life in "what if's".

And then there was Mama Now - too tired to plan ahead, lifting her babies up to smell the roses in front of her neighbor's house, who is more than happy to ask the sympathetic homeless man in front of Coffee Bean to keep an eye on her kids while she orders a double latte and chats with a friend, who lives her life in "so what's?"

Mama Now kicked Mama Then's ass because Middle Ground is for amateurs.

But Saturday morning, Mama Now sat down to blog about what an awesome mother she is while M watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and Little Homie played on the floor.  With the germs.  Mama Then would have thrown a shit fit, but so what?

But somewhere around the time Harry was battling the grindilows in the Enchanted Lake, and M was sucking her thumb and looking a little scarred for life, I glanced down and noticed that Little Homie wasn't making any noise.  And, he looked scared.  Not scared by the grindilows who were trying to drown Harry but really scared.  Like eyes bugging out, mouth opening and closing like a fish flopping on a pier scared.  Mama Then erupted like a bat out of hell , and the laptop crashed to the ground.

He was clutching a piece of paper - something so innocuous, so mundane, and so incredibly deadly when you're seven months old and cutting SEVEN teeth at once.  He wasn't breathing.  He wasn't breathing.  And the paper had a big piece torn out, still wet around the edges.

Yeah, well, even Mama Now could have figured this one out.

I pried open his mouth and saw a white fibrous mass covering his throat.  Time hiccuped.  It was like the oxygen was sucked out of the room, and all I could hear was a vacuous roar in my ears. With my index finger, I swept the inside of his cheek, praying - really praying -- that I wouldn't push the clump of wet paper further back.  He was starting to shake, and his eyes were blank.  But I was not going to let my son die while M divided her attention between Harry Potter battling for his life against the grindilows and the real life drama playing out on the floor.


I felt the paper pulpy against my finger, and I popped it out.

Little Homie gagged, wretched, and spewed milk and sweet potato all over the floor.  And then, with an angry wail, he breathed.   

He breathed. 

And when M came over to investigate, Mama Now let her play in the vomit while I held my baby boy in my arms and realized it was probably about time for Mama Then and Mama Now to meet in the middle and work out a truce.

For the sake of my kids.