|Cutest passport ever|
Upon your arrival, the bride meets you at the bus station. No matter that her wedding is in three days and she has a million things to do. She comes herself, and remains unruffled when your infant son screams for the entire thirty minute cab ride to her house. Later, as she holds your son so you can eat in peace, she says, “Pobrecito was just so tired from the journey.”
Your host mom has dinner ready when you arrive—homemade tortillas, filled with cheese, topped with freshly made salsa verde and ensalada de nopal—cactus with reputed healing properties. And of course, your favorite—sweet, delicious Mexican Coke in a glass bottle.
In the morning, the octogenarian abuelita arrives to stay for a few days. After telling a sad story about a fight she’d had with her daughter, she says, while crying, that she is unsure about where she will live. Then your baby appears. When abuelita takes him in her arms, her whole being lights up, her smile shining out of her eyes. She is lost in the pleasure of holding this little one. Seeing her joy warms you from head to toe.
Later, as you walk the baby in the stroller, a passing bus driver honks and yells “Guera” out the window.
In the zocalo, spotting a teeny embroidered shirt you want to buy, you realize you know the woman selling it. She greets you with great warmth, so happy to meet your baby and says, “You must be grateful for this gift from God. Not every woman is granted the privilege of being a mother.”
Asking a woman in the street for directions how to walk to the market, she tells you sternly it’s not safe to do so with the baby. When she can see that you really want to go, she relents slightly and says if you must go, you can take the bus, and tells you how to do it.
A man hops onto the bus, up the stairs and into a seat, loudly joking with the bus driver. He has no legs, so he walks on his hands. No one stares.
Driving to the wedding, the mother of the bride invites the cab driver to the reception, and means it.
At the wedding reception, everyone demands to hold the baby. They comment on how pale he is, how he looks like his father, how he’s a muñeco—a little doll. No one bats an eye when he cries, or when you nurse him. You notice in a new way how children are a part of the landscape, viewed as treasures, not as noisy bothers.
|All dressed up for the wedding|
Three sisters—ages 18, 15, and 13, adopt you and your son at the wedding reception, following after you, sitting with you while you nurse him, running to get whatever you need from the diaper bag. They can see you need help and they provide it. You’ve never met them before.
You catch your macho host brother wiping away tears as his baby sister says her vows. Later he grabs your hand and pulls you to the dance floor where you shout together, “No pares, sigue sigue.” Nearby, you find everyone from infants in arms to grandmothers, laughing, dancing, singing.
Waking up the morning after the wedding, you learn that not only had the post party continued until 2 a.m. the night before, but that your host mother, the mother of the bride, had made a pot of pozole as large as a keg of beer, for her birthday party, which begins at 11 a.m. and lasts well into the night.
At the airport restaurant in Mexico City, you sit, sad and tired, eyes barely opened. The waitress shyly asks if she can hold your son. When you gladly hand him over, the entire staff gathers, passing the baby around, smiling, and laughing.
After returning home, you call your host mom to tell her you’d returned safely. She says, “Ya extraño el llanto de Danielito.” I already miss Daniel’s crying.
The next morning you emerge from the shower, greeted by the baby crying. You look at each other, somewhat shocked that no one has appeared to comfort him. You’re both thinking, when can we go back to Mexico?