IMG_4362.jpg

Hello!

  Welcome to my blog. In this space, I celebrate intersectional feminism, motherhood, style, food, color and culture. Thanks for stopping by.

On Guardian Angels + Strength

On Guardian Angels + Strength

Did you know my son has a guardian angel watching over him? I’m not sure why, or what he/we did to deserve it, but it’s true. Sometimes his guardian angel tag-teams me, and does things for him that leave me in awe.

I’m going to steal myself for a minute, and share some real shitty, self-deprecating mom moments here, because I try to share my stories #sinmiedo, and TBH reading other mamas’ shit moments helps me cope with mine. So dust those crumbs off the couch, grab yourself a latte, and have a seat, mama. It’s about to get ugly.


Xavi is nine months old, and while I had every intention of keeping him in a bubble since he was discharged from the NICU nine months ago, homeboy has fallen off the bed TWICE (the second and most recent time, his guardian angel arranged the pillows into a perfect canopy on which he could fall as gently as possible), had my phone dropped on him ONCE, and taken a number of hits and spills (both self-induced and Ximena-induced) every week since. 


I know what you’re thinking. What. The. Duck. Dude. Watch your kid!!! The thing is, no one “watches their kid” like I watch mine. I have peed myself (LITERALLY peed myself) because my kid didn’t want me to put him down, and I simply could not hold it anymore. I have gone actual days without showering. I have gone weeks (ok, years) without restful sleep. Without quality time with my friends.

I remember each of my kids’ painful slips and falls clearly. Willing the dull throbbing that must ensue to somehow jump into my body. Why can’t I feel my kids’ pain for them? I promise you all mothers have had this thought at least once in their lives. 


I say this not because I am a martyr. I say this because motherhood is the hardest thing I have ever done. I have never cared for anything in my life as I have for my kids; not even myself.

And yet, no matter how hard I work to protect him + Ximena, no matter how many times I pee my pants to make sure they are comfortable, here I found myself in yet another enormous waiting room bathed in fluorescent light. Xavi was born with what is believed to be a dermoid cyst on his right temple. It is believed to be benign, and completely harmless, save for the fact that it will grow in proportion to the rest of his body (resulting in a possible eye obstruction!? down the road). He has seen four different doctors, and all of them agree: it should be removed before it has any chance to grow bigger. 

What does this mean? It means his sweet, chubby body will be put under anesthesia while a team of pediatric medical professionals surgically remove said cyst. It means that the day after my birthday this year, we will make an early-morning trek to our local children’s hospital, giving him the best quality of care money and our fancy health insurance plan can buy.

It is a quick, routine procedure, no more than thirty minutes. Were he a grown up, he wouldn’t be put under general anesthesia at all. Doctors cannot know for certain what the thing is without really looking at it, so they need to go in.


I wish I could eat that cyst. I wish I could bite it right off his perfect head and swallow it whole. I wish it were me. Mario takes a softer approach, and kisses Xavi’s little bump a hundred times a day. He calls it “Xavi’s coco,” a Spanish term of endearment for “boo boo”.


When I saw these shirts cooly proclaiming everything I don’t feel whenever I have to turn my kids over to someone else, I knew I had to have them. Before walking out, the doctor who will be performing the surgery come April looked me square in the eye and said, “Read your kids’ shirts, mama. Be strong.”

I know he has his guardian angel looking out double-time for him, but I am also coming to you, dear readers, for strength. Just as you have lifted my family and I up so many times before, I ask you for healing thoughts, prayers, and intentions going into April.

Thank you. Love you all!

Women of the Coachella Valley Part III

Women of the Coachella Valley Part III

Shop Small Part I

Shop Small Part I