Whoa

I'm sitting here and thinking.
Thinking of my daughter. And that is not such a remarkable thing. I think of her all the time.
But I have have been taking care of people for so long, that for a majority of that time I think of her as just another responsibility.
Halloween just past, and it marks an anniversary of a very tumultuous time for me. About 9 years ago, days before Halloween, my mother had my father arrested for something he didn't do. I can still here him screaming my name. He wasn't crying or calling out for her or his mother or anyone else when he was in the back of that car. He was calling for ME. He was crying. I remember the tears running down his face. So clearly. Crying and calling my name. And I couldn't go to him. I was stuck on my front porch looking at him in the car and hearing him all the way from the street. In his desperation he kicked the back window out of the police car. He called to me. Crying, screaming my name. "ashley. sweetie." i don't remember anything else he was saying. just calling "ashleeeeeeeeeeeeeey" " sweeeeetieeeee!!!!!!!!!!" And after he kicked the window out I ran. I remember the beads of sweat standing out all over his face and nose from the exertion. I remember the tears running down his face. The police had to call a paddy wagon to take him away. And when all the police were finally gone. I remember my mother on the porch leaving, saying she would take her boys but the little "whores" could stay. And then she left. And it was me and my sister. And I was wholly responsible for her. Just me. And a day or so later I realized it was Halloween. And while I had been keeping us clothed and fed-it was important that my little sister go trick or treating on Halloween. I dressed her in one of my old costumes. I believe it was a cheerleader. And took her up and down the four blocks nearest to my house. I carried no container, wore no costume, asked for no candy. I took my little sister trick or treating because it was Halloween and it she was my RESPONSIBILITY.

I forget sometimes, that Trinity is not only my responsibility, with the title of "daughter". But that she is my physical offspring. She is my firstborn. Not even her father can claim that of her. She is my FIRSTBORN child. Mine.
I made her. Out of nothing. I grew her in my body for 41 weeks. My body made everything about her. Her shining eyes. Her contagious smile. Her button nose. I successfully birthed her after 18 hours of hard, painful, mostly unmedicated labor. Birthed her whole-10 fingers, 10 toes. 19.5 inches and almost 8 lbs of pure, perfect Trin.
And all of the sudden it comes over me. That she is mine. I am her only mother. The only one ever. I made her. I took care of her-before she was even born. I quit smoking, quit drinking, quit any and all drugs except for tylenol for the sake of her well being. Choked down a giant prenatal vitamin and an iron supplement on top of it everyday just for her. All these memories overtake me. Holding her for the first time, looking at her, trying to focus on such a little face without my glasses. Kissing her for the first time. Her crawling. Her first words. Her first steps. Her in her first real halloween costume, we didn't even bother taking a 14 month old trick or treating. we took pictures and that was that. I think of her Cheshire cat grin now and remember how she didn't get teeth until she was nearly two years old and how worried I was. I blamed myself. "My stupid body", I thought "didn't even make her a set of teeth! What the hell is she gonna do without teeth!" I remember her passing out in the back seat as I made door to door deliveries for hospice for hours on end after I lost my job and van went away. Her in her Christmas outfit on Christmas eve drinking her bottle and waking up with her, just her, on Christmas morning to open presents "from Santa" my wonderful, WONDERFUL friends were nice enough to buy since I was absolutely flat broke. I remember leaving her for 3 WHOLE DAYS with someone for the first time since Beitris, before them I had never been away from her for a couple hours and it was almost a traumatic experience. But we needed money for rent and food and I had to do it and when I finally got my baby back in my arms......oh. I remember those days. Just me and Trin. Just us. And it seemed like the whole world was against us. The car accident that destroyed our only working vehicle. She didn't cry right away, she was in shock, but she HOWLED later. And it seemed like whenever we NEEDED food it would snow a mile high and make the stroller impossible to push.
She's been with me through so much, and I have always taken care of her. But she is not just a responsibility like my brothers and sister are when my parents aren't well enough to care for them or like my parents are when they are not well enough to take care of themselves.
SHE IS MY DAUGHTER.
AND THAT IS FUCKING AMAZING.
I have a daughter. Trinity Nerea Thompkins. That's her name. I picked it.
She's my daughter. Mine. No one else can claim to be her mother in word or in deed. I take good care of her but that is to be expected-and her only purpose by me She's a good girl. She's sweet and she's smart and she tells her father that he is her best friend, ALWAYS-and I act jealous but it doesn't bother me one bit. Inside I am bursting with pride. My little one has picked the same person to be her best friend that I have-and that means I am doing SOMETHING right.
God-I love her. I million of her smiles flash through my head. She's so amazing.

And she's mine.