Taylor...

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Albeit, I am her mother but, Taylor, my 32 year old daughter is, by no stretch of the imagination, an undisputed heavily female-laden, uncannily beautiful (inside and out) divinely-touched daughter of her father's and my delight....

Auspicious, could have been her middle name.  When I was nearly nine months pregnant, Taylor began her ascent into the world when my (her) water-bag breaks in the Cambridge, Massachusetts' Harvard Square Flower Shop!  No problem...I hop the express bus and head home with two red roses from the flower shop owner. Two hours later, I am 'squatting' on the delivery table with the very proper Wellesleyian bow-tied doctor shouting his threats of, "Lay back down, I cannot be responsible for this type of birthing."  I am thinking to myself: "Mr. Bowtie, women have for centuries been squatting in the bush to deliver perfectly healthy babies." I do not lay back down.

 As the very nervous doctor moves in closer to restrain my 'natural efforts', I raise my hand to stop him, deliberating putting him in his proper place with appropriate Sicilian verbage.  Instead,  I refrain from telling him to "stick his bow-tie up his ___." It is 40 minutes before midnight on October 7th.  If she is born before midnight she will have her own birthdate.  If she had been born the day before, October 6th, she would have had to share my father's birthdate. If she was born anytime after midnight, October 8th, she would have had to share my mother's birthdate.  At 20 minutes to midnight, she victoriously claims her own birthdate by arriving October 7th.  Breaking a four-generation tradition by not naming her Tanina, we instead name her: Taylor. In 1977, the name Taylor was not yet popularized.  When early on in my pregnancy, I was adamant that this child's name 'wants' to be Taylor whether it be a boy or a girl.  Her father is riding the fence on the 'name' until at 8 months pregnant and vacationing on Martha's Vineyard, we go to a movie.  Sitting directly behind us is James Taylor, Carly Simon, Sarah and their newborn, Ben...it is 'obvious' that the name was pre-ordained.

Unplanned, precocious, well-versed beyond her years, at any age; she is a treasure trove of the "unexpected." Some time after our move to Santa Monica, California and at 4 years of age, she and I are in the waiting-room for my annual check-up.  Taylor had a natural predilection to engage all manner of strangers.  In walks Hank.  We know his name by the name-tag on his shirt... He casually takes a seat and begins to thumb through a magazine.  Taylor, of course, is almost immediately at his side. She takes it upon herself to comment on any page he thumbs through.  He is charmed by her articulate small-talk and comfortably at ease with her own running commentary on whatever she deems pictorially worthy of comment.

Minutes roll by.  Hank (a name-tagged plumber?) seems well entranced by her mere presence.  Two more pages get turned and she says to him: "I know what that is.  My mother has one in her vagina right now!"  I look up. Hank looks sheepishly into my eyes.  We feel instantly, prematurely bonded. He is immeasurably relieved as moments later my name is called to be the next in line for my doctor visit. Oh, if he only knew the half of it---the ordinary magic that accompanies this child wherever she goes.

The 'whole' of it is still unfolding in Taylor's life...I still watch her with awe.  She is profoundly undaunted by whatever life seems to throw her way--and it has thrown her a lot.  She is still incapable of not speaking her mind...a rare gift indeed.  She has the heart of a benevolent queen and the soul of a mystic gypsy.  Again, I am her mother.  You may believe I am highly biased...I am.  Well, as biased as anyone would be, when to encounter her, is likened to an unsuspecting manifestation of all the good karma you must have accumulated in your many past lives...to have met  her in this lifetime is...well, ask Hank.  She was Taylor-made to be unforgettable.

Gracie Garp