The sounds of Jordan stirring next to me in his bassinet stole my attention.
And there was my life: me and this precious new being, forcing me to learn new things about myself and propelling me to develop others. When you have a baby to care for, you reflect on the times of leisure before the baby when you thought you had no time and realize you had it in abundance. You wonder when you’ll be able to get back to some level of normalcy or whether you should say goodbye to what you knew as normalcy and expect new normalcy. You wonder if you’ll be able to relax and not always be on guard for a disgruntled baby.
You also wonder if you’re providing the best for your child. I had Jordan outside of the cushion of a marital partnership. It was just the two of us. Yes, Stenton was around as much as his schedule would allow—and sometimes when it didn’t; he made so many concessions in his schedule—but he wasn’t here every day. Ultimately, it was me and my baby boy. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed exploring this new life. I took joy in observing his ever changing features the first weeks of his life. We’d get out for doctor appointments and walks when the weather permitted. My mom, sister and Karen would come by when they could, but the distance isolated us. Yes, we were closer to Stenton and his job, but it was a complete culture shock not having family just a stone’s throw away.
Angela still wasn’t speaking to me. That hurt when I thought about it. Thankfully, I didn’t think about it often. Having a baby will prioritize your mind, and Angela wasn’t a part of my day-to-day struggle. I didn’t go to church for the first few weeks of Jordan’s life because I wasn’t ready for the fanfare, seeing everyone was aware of whom Jordan’s father was.
I was completely hormonal eight weeks into my postpartum self. I’d become awfully high strung and too idle with my time when Jordan slept, which was increasingly less, but still a lot. At one point, I started planning his christening. I didn’t want a big, lavish event; only to get it over with and rededicate my son back to Christ. I consulted my mom on the minor details that it would take to pull off what I had in mind and before I knew it, the day had finally come.
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June 2008
The soft and melodious rifts of the organ rang to fill the air as Pastor Whitaker ran down the latest announcements. We’d already sat through the official announcements portion of the service that Sister Brenda does each Sunday as part of her job as the announcer, but Pastor Whitaker would always come behind her and emphasize the ones he felt were of high priority. He also took the time to shout out his seven-year-old daughter’s birthday. It amazed me that I could recall when she was no bigger than Jordan, who rested in his car seat next to me, on the floor.
Jordan. My latest obsession.
“We have a dedication on this morning before I bring forth the word,” Pastor Whitaker announced, drawing my attention from my prince. “Could we have the participants come to the pulpit please?”