The Better Half(98)
Surprising to no one but me, sixteen years later I didn’t remember the ins and outs of infancy nor the hallucinations that come with week after week of no sleep. More than once, I wondered if I had made a drastic mistake trading my life in for a new one, but then moments before a meltdown (mine, not Morgan’s) Leo would sweep in with his Black to Basics parenting tidbits and take over while I took myself to the shower. Turns out not only is Leo a master at diaper changing, bottle feeding, and laundry, but he’s already introduced Morgan to his Marisol. T. J.’s son, Ace, was born a few days after Morgan. Now the four of them hit the playground to check out the older kids’ sandbox skills and Little League.
While I thought I would be clamoring to head back to work, my four-month maternity leave has gone quicker than I expected, and I’m not sure I’m ready to return. In the last month, we have hit our stride at home, and now I’m risking toppling our tenuous microcosm by heading back to work. But I guess today is as good as any to mark my first day as Royal-Hawkins’s quadfecta. A first-generation Black female mother-of-two head of school.
“I can’t believe I was able to leave Xandra at daycare when she was barely six months old. That was some stone-cold parenting when I was young. I’ve grown mushy as an old mom.”
“You’re not an old mom. You’re the mother of a newborn in an old bod,” Marisol says, getting my facts correct. “Xandra turned out just fine, and so will Morgan. But I get it”—Marisol’s tone softens—“I wouldn’t even leave my boys alone with Jaime their first few months, but I eventually gave in and hired Spanny when I realized spas are not conducive to sleep schedules. Besides, Morgan won’t be with a total stranger, he will be with KayCee’s niece.”
I peel back the gauzy coverlet and peek in at the oversize chunk consumed with the wonder of his tiny fingers. Every time I take Morgan to the pediatrician to be measured and weighed, she comments that given his size I may have a budding basketball player on my hands. I haven’t told Jared the good news yet.
“How lucky are you that you can now afford to step out AND staff up. Spanny coming to work for my family was the best thing that ever happened to my career—professional and parental. And it will be for you, too, because while you love being a mother, you also love being a head of school.”
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to do it,” I offer as a possible sign of progress. The beginning of August is fairly quiet on all school campuses, but particularly this week at Royal-Hawkins with Roan on his long-awaited trip to Paris. He desperately wanted to stroll the Seine for his honeymoon, and a broken engagement didn’t stop him. Roan’s feeding his Francophile alter ego with twice-daily croissants and bottles of Bordeaux with his past head of school and good friend Josie Bordelon. His last text to me simply read, Tate who? So, I have a couple of weeks to settle back in and redefine my leadership style now that I’m a working mother of two.
Once I’m off the phone with Marisol, I’ve got to go find Pablo, who, Mimi informed me, has been champing at the bit to meet Morgan. Between Chaco Taco and Pablo, I plan on having a bilingual baby. Hopefully, he’ll have a better ear for language than his mother.
“Do you remember what you were doing just over a year ago?” Marisol asks mischievously. Thinking, thinking. My mind draws a blank.
“I don’t even remember anything I did last week other than walk Morgan endlessly around the neighborhood, so he’d fall asleep. Last year feels like a lifetime ago.”
“You were doing the walk of shame back to our hotel room,” Marisol hoots, the memory surely clear as yesterday in her mind. My love life continues to be her favorite form of entertainment.
“Best walk of my life,” I reminisce, remembering me in my turquoise wrap dress, stench of marathon sex and zero guilt. “And to think I had declared this last year to one as a no-drama mama.”
“Dios mío, we read those tea leaves wrong. But I wouldn’t change a thing, would you?” Marisol loves to ask questions she knows the answers to. Makes her feel smart. “Yikes, I gotta go, drama mama. Diego and Paco are barking down my back for pancakes before lacrosse camp. Later, lady. Besos!”
I look around what used to be an office for one but is currently home to the two of us. At least for today. I get up to close my door in case Mimi shows up with an extra latte and catches me midpump. I plug in, strap up, and crank some Diana Ross circa Motown to drown out the whoosh swoosh whoosh of my breast pump that has become the soundtrack of my life. I open up my inbox and see an email from Carmel Burns at the top of a four-month heap.
FROM: Carmel Burns
DATE: August 1
SUBJECT: Jared Jones
TO: Nina Morgan Clarke
Dear Nina,
Hope you and that baby of yours are doing good. I’m not sure if you’re back at work or not but I wanted to say thank you for hooking Dontrelle and Marcus up to work with Jared over the summer. To have an accomplished young Black man show my boys that they can be students and athletes, that the choice is not one or the other, has been life changing for our family. Last night instead of playing video games Dontrelle was reading a book Jared gave him. I almost fainted washing the dinner dishes!
Also, it was so nice of Roan to send me the Royal-Hawkins application steps and deadlines for next year. I don’t think we’ll apply since it’s so far away by bus, but knowing you, Roan, and Jared believe in my boys makes me think looking at private schools closer to home could be a possibility. Or maybe they’ll stand out as freshmen with all the tutoring from Jared and they’ll want to stay at our local school. Whatever happens, it’s nice to know my boys have options.