Early draft book excerpt: the snowblower, part I

Hi hi! I’m writing to you from beautiful Hedgebrook, where I’ve spent the last few weeks working on my memoir project!

I’ve written a lot (yay!) and thought I’d give patreons a little peek inside the draft. Here’s an excerpt from a section called the snowblower. That title won’t make sense now, but if/when I share the other parts of it, it might. Anyways here it is if you’d like to read it. Thank you again for supporting me and my work! Love, Na Mee

The Snowblower, excerpt part 1

Chapter #

The first month is wet and thrilling. Milk in all its feral forms. Motherhood is a new, soggy planet and my child speaks in a forgotten language. Words words words, he cries. Words! Words! he screams, his voice cracking like a bridge. The goal is to walk across it before it breaks. What do you want, do you want food? I tiptoe. A new diaper? I swing him to my chest so he can hear the songs of his homeland. Worrrrrrd! he cries, and the word is so big it’s like it’s being squeezed out of him. For a thin moment he looks muted, his face in a wail with no sound coming out. But what it is is like the wind, taking a deep breath before bellowing. What it is is like a wave, quietly curling. WORD WORD WORD WORDS WORDS WORDS!! he crashes.

Eventually, I pick up on patterns. Which cry means I’m hungry, which cry means I’m tired, which cry means I swear to god I would rather die than be strapped into this carseat. I learn which cry means please, just hold me. Often what SunWoo wants is to be bounced, like riding in a boat. He wants to be rocked, but he wants the water to be a little choppy. My arms do this; we have a reclining baby bouncy chair that does this; and sometimes we go on long drives and let the car do this. In getting to know my newborn, I learn that my newborn hates 3 point turnarounds. If I stop and put the car in reverse, SunWoo wakes up and cries. Oh no! I imagine him saying. Are you lost??

*

They say a newborn lives mostly on reflex. The grasp reflex, the suck reflex, the step reflex. When the corner of the baby’s mouth is stroked or touched, the baby opens its mouth in the direction of the touch, looking for milk. They call this one the root reflex. The way a baby wants to plant itself, grow. Tongue first.

SunWoo roots on my knuckle, my breast, my chin. Fernando rubs his forehead on SunWoo’s forehead, he rubs his nose against SunWoo’s nose, he rubs his cheek against SunWoo’s cheek, and SunWoo’s mouth opens opens opens, his roots searching his father’s face.

*

We give our son his first bath. Fernando holds his phone, so he can take pictures. I hold SunWoo with one hand and I splash him with some water. I have no idea what I’m doing I laugh and Fernando laughs back, says you’re doing great. I am trying not to get our son very wet, because what if I get water in his face and he thinks he’s drowning or what if he gets too slippery and I drop him or what if I ruin him forever, is what I am explaining to Fernando who is attempting to record the world’s slowest bath. Fernando is doing a terrible job not laughing while recording. SunWoo senses my lack of confidence and fakes a cry. Okay okay you do it, I say to Fernando and we switch places.

Fernando swoops in like a bird. He holds our baby in one wing and cups the water with the other. The water is a stream of silver, our son rich and shiny. SunWoo looks up aimlessly and sparkles. Fernando washes him with the ease of a master baby bather and I remember for the first time in a long time how he already has two children. Of course. He’s done this before. Fernando points to the rolling hills of our baby’s fat and calls him the Michelin man. The Michelin man relaxes, he’s relaxed. A collection of soft, tawny tires in Fernando’s hand.

Fernando giggles. SunWoo wiggles. They look just like each other.

*

Sometimes, for no reason, SunWoo smiles. The smile makes you want to rob a bank. I mean, if I were a bank, and he smiled at me, I would just rob myself. Fernando visits SunWoo on his lunch breaks, like a new toy he can’t play with enough. He’s a slot machine. Our son lays on the bed and Fernando shakes a blue giraffe above him. Como estas mijito? asks the blue giraffe, in Fernando’s voice. We wait to see what the slot machine will do. SunWoo follows the blue giraffe with his eyes. Amazing. Como estas, the blue giraffe asks again. Our son blinks. Opens his mouth, slightly. Blows a spit bubble, sort of. I would go broke for this.

Our family is new and ravishing and to coordinate I cut my hair. Th dinners Fernando cooks get fancier, like he is feeding the mother of a miracle. I get a mild cold or maybe I sneezed two times. Fernando brings home a farm of strawberries and swaddles me in blankets and tries to be a human shield between me and SunWoo, even when I’m trying to breastfeed. Don’t breathe on the baby! he says, swiveling his smile between my smile and our son’s.

*

SunWoo is one month old. He is wearing yellow sunshine socks and the sunshines are beaming. SunWoo’s head sags and his eyes cross and sometimes he slowly, softly punches himself in the mouth. Fernando packs a small bag for Minnesota. Just a few days. He has to go to court for a very old speeding ticket. This is plausible to me because Fernando was born speeding, it’s a lifestyle. Also, I don’t know a single thing about how court works. Also, we are happy now, the happiest, and happy people don’t make up fake legal chores.

Have fun! I joke, secretly looking forward to a few days of grownup alone time.

Don’t give your mom a hard time, he teases SunWoo, whose face moves toward the sound of his voice.

Fernando rubs his nose against SunWoo’s cheek. SunWoo opens his mouth, his roots reaching.

Adios, mijito, he says. Goodbye, my little son