moms
story and photos by Jan Kurtz
A New Mom llan Jan Kurtz dressed in a typical Sevi asies. fant her of April Fair dress fulfilling one
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She stared blankly down into the toilet, as she swished his dirty diaper counter-clockwise until the cloth loosened its load. This was her sixth month as a “new mother” and she was laboring under her belief that disposables were bad for the environment and that it was her job to be “a good wife and mother.” What exactly did that entail? “For this I spent four years in college while my husband is out with his high school education, wearing the tailored suit and driving the new car?” The forbidden thought escaped as she rung out the offending diaper between clenched fingers before she reached up to flush. The flush drowned out the crying of her infant in the nursery across the hall. It was after 10 p.m. and again she was alone with the baby that her husband had so dearly wanted. They had even made a deal…There would be no family started until she had returned to Spain, so that he might see and share the place she spent her junior year abroad. As luck would have it, the baby was conceived in Seville, or perhaps, Marbella. Within weeks of their return, the new fashionable pants she had purchased along the Costa were already too tight! With one hand grasping the sink, still 10
Summer 2012 | her voice
filled with dirty diapers and the other propped on the toilet lid, she raised herself up off of the floor. Her baby’s cry had called forth the milk within her breasts and the warm liquid began to grow a darkening stain on her shirt. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she washed her hands and pushed the hair off her forehead. “Who is this person?” Her husband had quit a stable, military job just a few months into their pregnancy, to pursue a career in real estate. There was no question that he had not been happy and that something had to change. He had blossomed and already been employee of the month, but did he have to show houses every weekend? Did the clients have to call at all hours? Didn’t people respect a home life? Of course he has to go. Our only salary is commission! Again, the baby cried. “I’m coming, sweetie. Mommy is coming.” She reached down and pulled him out of the crib, putting her hand under his little head and looked into his squinting face. The other hand patted his butt while searching for the answer to “wet or dry.” Wet. As she moved him to the dressing table, she began to hum, as the words to the lullabies had not
yet come back to her. She liked the way he smelled, once he was all powdered up and snuggling in fresh jammies. The sun, wind and blue sky returned to her, as she pinned on a linedried, double folded diaper. She did love hanging out the clothes! He was now dry but hungry as she sat them into the low rocking chair, pulling her shirt aside and cupping his head into her armpit. She began to rock, producing the rhythmic creak that was handed down to her from previous generations. It was a calming click that accompanied them each night at four-hour intervals, when they met here, under the night light. She mused about all the mothers that, at that very moment, all around the world, were united in the feeding of their babies. A special group, that simply existed as a result of this common activity. A sacred rite, participated in purely because you had a baby and there you were. She paused the rocking long enough to shift sides and saddle him into her other armpit. He closed his eyes. She closed hers. This time, it wasn’t a lullaby, but a Sevillana that left her lips. This gypsy tune carried her to the orange trees during April Feria, where white, Andalusian stallions