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Personal Essay
You Were A Baby Once
Pier 21 Prompt: Reflect
My mother tucks me in — onto my bed. I am a person of undetermined age, closer to fifty than forty, tonight perhaps a toddler. She has aged many years since the last time she kissed my forehead while I was asleep, maybe more than forty years ago. I am visiting Argentina from the United States. I let my mother be a mom again. Perhaps, for the last time.
I remember my teenage years as a time in which I was full of frustration. I had no girlfriend or car or good job or cool parents. I had to learn to define myself, but I did not know that then. The task of defining ourselves without the use of external accessories takes a lifetime.
I also, without knowing, learned to define myself as a parent.
I woke up before the kids to make them breakfast. We alternated this task with my spouse, but we are a competitive couple, and I feel we fought to outdo each other. I tried to imitate McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches with English muffins. She did pancakes and bacon. I squeezed fresh oranges to make juice for them — like my father did. My daughter never liked the pulp. I filtered the juice for as long as I could; then, one day, she stopped drinking the juice.
