Brittany Sestina

Baby Shower 

There is something about being among a group of women,

a place where you once felt you belonged,

listening to chatter over hot coffee in giant cups,

seeing arms wide open and full of love

taking turns holding the newborn baby,

and knowing that, to him, “auntie” will never be your name.

They hesitate as they hug me and say my name,

as I am no longer one of their women.

I had wanted to celebrate the handsome baby,

not realizing how much I would not belong.

I eat fruit off a plate likely used by a man I once loved

and my shaking hands nearly drop my cup.

I calm and pour punch in my children’s cups,

lose my pin when I say my non-nephew’s name,

snuggle him close and give him my love.

I was invited, I thought, with the church women;

at least if one of them had showed I would belong,

wouldn’t feel embarrassed when I say I want another baby.

It wasn’t so long ago they welcomed my first baby,

ate my snacks, drank coffee from my cups,

made me know that now I truly belonged.

Soon after, they cried over my daughter’s lovely name –

she was named for the matriarch of their women –

and they showered me again with their love.

When there is nothing left of love,

save the forever memory of two lost, two born babies

and your mom and sister, life changes from women to woman.

There is no elite who will offer to fill your cup,

no extended family who are proud to share their name;

to your own is the only group where you belong.

I hid the discomfort of knowing I didn’t belong.

I saw in them maybe pity, perhaps love

for the girl who was once given their name,

who was cuddling and admiring the new baby,

laughing like times past, holding a coffee cup;

one like them but who was not one of their women.

I did not belong at the shower for the baby,

did not drink love from their cups.

Only in a last name was I part of these women.

Brittany Lehman