Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

I remember sometimes, the moment it began, on an avenue in Paris, rue Garibaldi, I believe, next to metro 6 line, a laboratory, all next to UNESCO, the place I once called work. The announcement was swift against a former life slowly dissolving. You are with child, in French, was all I heard, with new life shimmering with joy. In the shards of the evening sun, the words were so swift, so brief. You. You are. Those headaches, those weird feelings, all of them gave rise to the day, I first became a mother. On days, like today, I recall the first moment, still underneath a blazing sun, still with the one we call Belle, still being thankful for being my first, still so grateful that the joy of today begins first with the one named Beautiful, then the gift from God, then the one named God and of course the one we give back to God. They make life full. Happy Mother’s Day to all…