Christine Stewart-Nuñez
Advice to a Former Self
Always do something: throw a load of laundry in before the hamper overflows; cut up vegetables for lunch; pay the rent; return an email; compose a don’t forget to do this list; change the sheets; scrub the toilet. Who knows when the next crisis will crash your house of cards?
When your child hugs you, even if you are frying pork chops for dinner, hug him back; when your child hugs you, even if you are on the phone with the neurologist’s nurse, hug him back; hug your child, even when he kicks you in the knee, even when he screams—for an hour—about a mosquito bite; hug your child, even when the embrace can’t seem to reach him.
Always fulfill the prescription in case of a blizzard; always fulfill the prescription in case your child spits the last pill into a glass of apple juice, the dissolving compound manifesting panic; always fulfill it in case he seizes in the car on the interstate in the middle of nowhere and for christ’s sake! remember to bring the emergency syringe.
Forgive yourself for yelling but try not to do it again; forgive yourself for wishing your life was different but try to love your lot; forgive yourself for wishing you were anywhere but wiping your nine-year-old’s bottom; forgive yourself: you will beg for respite, resources, and respect again and again and again.
Learn to steel yourself against glaring folks in grocery stores; prepare for whispered apologies and platitudes and pity and offers of prayer; practice your snappy comebacks and teachable moments—you’ll develop a sense for when to deploy them.
Dress nice for meetings with doctors, psychologists, teachers, principals, and social workers; bring your research articles with you, highlighted and annotated for easy reference; remain calm and composed when they blame you (even if only by implication); always always always submit because they hold your child’s life in their plans, their charts, their priorities, and if you’re lucky, their hearts.
Except. Know there’s a line, and you’ll recognize this edge when your toes touch it; your body can sharpen; your words can distill into persuasion; your muscles can flex and move; you can change course. And should.
Amid the daily chaos of crisis and change, remember to grasp every speck of light: every giggle, every sparkle, every joyful hum and contented sigh, every moment of peaceful sleep, every affectionate touch, every new learned thing; every scent of living life; every breath.
Submit to love, and this life will rebirth you.
Christine Stewart-Nuñez (she/her) is the author of seven books of poetry and a book of essays. Some books explore motherhood, including Bluewords Greening (Terrapin Books 2016), winner of the 2018 Whirling Prize (literature of disability theme) and Chrysopoeia: Essays of Language, Love, and Place (Stephen F. Austin State University Press 2022). Christine served as South Dakota’s poet laureate from 2019-2021 before moving to Canada where she teaches at the University of Manitoba.