Mi gorilita

Madelena and I decided to take Antigua by storm...or by large tourist group. To learn more about the city and alleviate the loneliness, we joined large group of turisticas following behind Elizabeth Bell like the little American puppies that we are. A local expert on Antigua who has lived here for 38 years, Elizabeth has the unmistakable gloss of a junior high gym teacher who takes no guff and will not be questioned. Indeed, we learned that she WAS a junior high teacher and truly WOULD take no guff from anyone.

From city hall (the view from which can be seen above, gazing down on the Little People in Plaza Mayor) to various ruins, cathedrals and a pit stop to hawk her own books at her office, we learned about life in Antigua as it was in the 1500s through now, and how telephoning outside of Antigua was only available on two lines until 1999. We learned about the Mayan view of the cosmos, why Mayan religion was outlawed and punishable by death, how jade mining carried the same penalty, and why an indigenous people with a rich culture and religion have been misunderstood, maligned, and reduced in numbers so much that they could end up on the endangered list just like bald eagles and straight men who like to dance.

Joining us on this tour were two other mothers with their daughters, also adopting. One was my Baptist friend from the day before, the other a new recruit from Champagne, Illinois with whom I hit it off. All was well and right with the world, except that my child was clearly so beautiful and charming and engaging that their probably equally beautiful and charming daughters were all but ignored.

She was the toast of the museum, where adults vied to extend the finger to which she would grasp as she tottered through exhibits. She was the one who flirted with her gorilla face (as seen below) which apparently not only a mother could love. She laughed, she waved, and she tilted her head coyly to one side while smiling her secret Mona Lisa smile.


Ah, if only those who loved her all day could have seen her in the evening, her pants and socks dripping with liquid poo as she wrapped herself monkey-like around me. Only to immediately spit up on our sofa and me only minutes after stripping down, scrubbing up and being swaddled in new soft, clean clothes. I wonder if their love would have continued to extend to this little factory of bodily functions or if THAT — unlike the gorilla face — truly is something that only a mother could, if not love, accept with a modicum of grace and a big dash of nausea. Vale la pena.