After picking up a few groceries, my sister told me that she had to go pick up my niece for a doctor’s appointment.
Clearly I didn’t know what was wrong so, I questioned the situation. I was told not to worry that my niece was just congested. Seeing that she was soon to turn 11, I was concerned about how she would be feeling. We stopped off at my sister’s home to place a few of my perishables in the refrigerator. My sister and I proceeded to go to the school to pick up my niece, Kiana. She is the splitting image of her mother as if she had her all by herself. My niece saw me in the front seat of the car; I looked over and noticed that outside the car she was jumping up and down with excitement of seeing me.
When my sister was pregnant with Kiana, I would hang or hover over my sister, rubbing her belly and singing to the baby. Each time I would do that, Kiana would kick as hard as she could; my sister would say, “Stop Stacey you’re making her kick and it hurts.” Then I would sing just to make her kick, and she would do it every time I’d sing. When Kiana was born, she knew exactly who I was. My name was the first word she spoke and I feel like we have been stuck like glue and paper ever since. On this day at the doctor’s office, Thursday, we all headed toward the pediatric office. I needed to talk to my doctor and my niece asked her mother if she could go with me. I politely told my niece that she had a doctor’s appointment and I would be right back. She ran after me telling me that she loves me, “bye T. T. I love you.”
The gentleman in the elevator smiled at the way my niece was showing her affection stating that they are beautiful at that age. After returning to the pediatric office, I texted my sister to let her know that I was in the waiting room. As I waited for my niece to come out, mothers came in with their children, fathers came in with their children, grandmothers came in with their grandchildren. I felt suffocated but, managed to smile as I watched children have conversations with their parents. There was one little girl, who stared at me without blinking then set her eyes on the woman sitting next to me and then put her beautiful blue eyes back on me. She was three years old. I smiled and spoke again. . .she turned and walked away.
Watching children being held by their parents, I realize they are in the arms of those who they feel can protect them. I am 43 years old with a birthday coming up and watching TV shows with topics such as “paternity test” and hearing the host echoing the words, “ You are NOT the father”. . .You ARE the father” when my day comes to have child, I will know who the father is. That is risky business.
Stacey Barlow is a contributing blogger for JenningsWire.
