Saturday morning. A time of the week where the world breathes. The busyness of mornings from Monday to Friday leave the world stressed but the calmness of Saturday mornings give the world a chance to relax. Contrary to popular belief, I think waking up early on Saturday mornings give a person a sense of peace that is robbed by the work week. 

It is 7:30 am; I go out on my bedroom patio. What usually is the sound of car doors slamming, cars on the road, and children waiting eagerly for their buses is silenced by birds chirping. When I look out, all I see is greenery of summer's end, not a human in sight. I sit on the blue pillows on my woven patio furniture and I enjoy the scenery of Saturday's peace.

In past months, I would have been getting ready to have breakfast with my husband of 35 years. We made it a tradition once our children were out of the house to enjoy breakfast at La Bonne Chère, our favorite local eatery. But today, I am going to have breakfast with my youngest daughter, Cassandra, instead.

After 15 minutes of reflecting, I go back inside to prepare breakfast, shower and dress. My daughter is scheduled to be at my house at 9:30 am so we can eat. We were supposed to go out to enjoy breakfast but she begged me to have breakfast at my house as opposed to a restaurant.

"Mom, you know I have to deal with all the yuppies from Monday to Friday. Can we just eat at your house, PLEEEEAAASSSEEEE?" Cassandra wines.

"And who is going to cook?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Ma, you know I just LOOOOVVVVEEE your cooking. Would you deny your baby girl your infamous homemade biscuits, fish, and grits?"

"You are laying it on thick, girl, but I'll see what I can do," I say aloofly but both of us knew that I was going to give in to her request. 

I just put the final touches on the dining room table where we will eat. Sitting on the table is a dish of homemade biscuits sitting next to a bowl of organic strawberry jam and a bowl of butter. Sitting next to it is a dish of seasoned fried whiting, a bowl of cheese grits, and a pitcher filled with Mimosa. I look at my gold Mavado watch and it is now 9:45 am. My daughter, the successful fashion merchandiser, has yet to arrive. While business oriented and driven, she lacks the skill of being on time to anything. I walk toward the bathroom and stop in the hallway in front of the full length mirror. What I see is a beautiful nutmeg colored woman with bright eyes and full lips in her mid-fifties adorning a dark brown pixie. She is wearing a lightweight navy blue cardigan, a white t-shirt, fitted light blue jeans, and light blue slippers. This woman that I see appears to have her life together like pieces in a very elaborate puzzle but she is struggling; her world as she knew it changed in a moment and as each day passes, it becomes more difficult to keep everything intact.

​"Oh my God, babe. The test says positive," my husband yells from the bathroom.
 
"WHAT?" I respond, semi-shocked from the news.
 
"No bullshit. Come in here and see for yourself."
 
I hop off of our plush blue microfiber couch and go to our first floor half bathroom. The faint scent of geranium and vanilla from the unlit candles hits me and I suddenly become nauseous.
 
"Look, D!" Kevin says as he shoves the positive pregnancy test in my face. I take the test from his hands and I stare at it. As I see the word PREGNANT digitally sprawled across the 1.5 inch screen, a surge of emotions comes over me like a flood.
 
"My parents are going to be so thrilled! I'm going to call them now. Do you think they are home or out walking on the beach, holding hands like teenagers?" Kevin ask me exuberantly.
 
"Huh?" I replied, half listening to him.
 
"I think they might be at home. I remember Dad telling me that they were having problems with their cable and that they scheduled an appointment for someone to check out the issue. I think the appointment might have been today. I'll call them on their house phone." Kevin says as he walks out of the bathroom to make the call, too excited to see that I am overtaken by my conflicting feelings.
 
 If I had a kid back in the day, I would have been a MILF, the baddest bitch in the city. But in 2016, I could never equate the term to myself. Back in the day, I was the shit. My body was on FLEEK! Smooth caramel skin, dark brown hair that hit my mid-back, 38C breast, 25 inch waist, and a booty that swayed like the wind when I walked. I used my body to get what I wanted from men.. and sometimes women. But all that changed when my life spiraled out of control almost causing it to end.