My life had changed completely. I was no longer just any woman. I was a mother. A mother to the delicate little being that I gave life to, with help from a man who ceased to exist in my life a while back and I never wanted to see again.
After giving it much thought, I decided to call my son, Guy. How the name came to me, I still do not quite know, but I knew it was the best for my little baby.
I decided to devote myself to looking after Guy until he was at least a year old. I did not want to engage in any work that would keep me away from him. My fears of hurting my baby were slowly fading and my confidence in motherhood was slowly growing.
My days and nights were like never before. Guy would wake up at the oddest of times. In the middle of the night, I could hear a sharp wail in my ears and I quickly woke, drew him to me and placed my heavy breast in his hungry mouth. Even if he was not next to me, I knew he was hungry when I felt dampness on my chest.
Sometimes after Guy was fed, he would lay awake through the night. His eyes wide open, staring avidly into space while playing with his feet. He would grab my little finger ever so often and hold it close to his little chest, or start chewing on it with his toothless gums.
During the day, I took him outside, and we would sit on the steps, watching the trees and birds and the cotton-like white clouds. Sometimes I would narrate stories about cloud kingdoms and tree houses to Guy, though I knew he understood not. The mere presence of his little body and his constant chuckles and grunts were enough to satisfy me.
For the first three months, I only fed Guy breastmilk. Mother told me it was best for the baby and it was enough to fill his little tummy, for he did feed so often.
When Guy was three months old, mother showed me how to make porridge for him. Mixing the contents of the baby food tins that mother bought from town with hot water and leaving this to cool down for Guy to be able to eat without burning his delicate little tongue.
Getting Guy to eat his first mouthful of porridge was harder than I thought. After countless attempts to put the tiny wooden spoon in his mouth, I finally managed to sneak my way in, while he was intently trying to do what seemed like pull out his toes and rearrange them. Surprisingly, after that, he willingly opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue once he needed another mouthful.
My little one had his moods and was fussy with his food, though he was still a tiny youngling. But I always found a way. Telling him that the spoon was an airplane and it was to land in his mouth, making motor noises as best as I could, or telling him it was a little bird. Whether he understood me entirely or not, the food went down to his tummy, which mattered most.
Changing Guy's diapers, washing him, cleaning after he sometimes threw up and endless washing of his little clothes took up most of my time. Growing up in Stamps had helped me greatly as I was used to doing things around the house.
Though mother kept the house clean and tidy, with the help of a young woman who came over once in a while to help around, I too did what I could to keep it prim and proper. I had time while my baby slept for hours on end.
Sometimes I wondered how life would be if I was still in Stamps. Would I have been able to live at peace with my little baby boy or would the mere fact that I had a baby out of wedlock have made my life a living hell? The women would gossip endlessly for sure. But maybe they would leave me alone. Maybe they would help look after adorable little Guy.
Any thoughts that I ever had of an abortion, I am glad to have gotten rid of. Guy was one of the best things that had ever come my way. I no longer felt lonely when I was alone, for my thoughts were with my little boy.
My ear was always pricked like that of a faithful dog, in case Guy was crying and needed me. I needed no material things for myself, because he was my world. My little world.
I always had Mother by my side if ever I needed her. Her talent as a nurse kept my mind at peace, if ever Guy fell ill. Daddy Clidell was always there too. His presence was enough, for we felt safe from harm's way.
Guy was our little angel. My little angel. The light of my life. My first months of motherhood were beautiful and beyond. I no longer felt afraid. I only felt confidence and love that was true and pure.
YOU ARE READING
Chapter 37: added chapter to Maya Angelou's 'I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings'
Short StoryAs part of the English Language and Literature course in IB1, my class and I read the book 'I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings', by Maya Angelou. For the written task that we did afterwards, I chose to add a chapter to the book. The chapter that I adde...