The Empress and a Ballerina

So begins a storybook for two little girls who have added to this dark fairytale of mine. I would love to know what you think of the prelude… a tale that can be read by mothers aloud to their young, to introduce a broader vocabulary for the world’s newest minds!

Once upon something a little less finite than Time and with no relation to the sounds tick, tock… somewhere more cushioned, airy... ah huh, upon a cloud. There lived an Empress and an Orange. Oh wait a moment - I have the stories confused! In this story, we meet an Empress and a Ballerina.

 

When the two looked down at a colorful, spinning carnival from the Heavens above, they threw a love dart that landed in an enchanted forest and pricked a young Rapunzel. One turned to the other and declared, mama! Together they gravitated inside Rapunzel’s belly (an innocent term for womb) and begun their journey as two tiny seeds. Two hundred and sixty six days later plus 39 hours of heavy breathing, Rapunzel scrunched her fists and blinked her eyes three times and the two tiny sisters appeared in her lap… no longer were they seeds, but an Empress and a prima Ballerina.

 

Identical is what the nurses called them in the infant sleeping room, for they had shared a bubble in their mothers womb, though their personalities were unique and somewhat opposite. Such individual traits known instinctively by their mother, well before they had formally met; under her skin, as tiny toes poked her insides and wiggles had begun: a definitive thrust from her Lion of God and to her left side grew a soft, sensitive smaller twin who would later be named Freyja. Three pairs of eyes met on the eleventh day of the eleventh month of a year we might try to forget; Rapunzel and her baby girls were bound with spiritual synergies and knew indefinitely that they were soul mates. Though in the space that existed before the day the seeds were implanted in Rapunzel’s belly, Empress and Ballerina had already decided to pair - for their differences, worn together made a tiny force and compatible team: both to be heard and enchant with feminine intelligence.

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After fifty-six days and a few extra hours of clean oxygen to fill their lungs, Empress took a final gulp of warmed milk from her favorite pink bottle. It was a day where a grey silken sheet had been draped across the sky and covered the mother sun; where waterlogged leaves fell heavily from twisted branches; and crickets could be heard chiming in the damp grasses; Empress and Ballerina sat attentively to all the remarkable sights and senses surrounding them; milky chinned and cocooned in their matching chariots to overhear adult dialogue. Mama went 38 weeks without a baby shower? As a glass of Rose was set down on the table and female giants leaned over car seats to kiss goodbye, Empress got to thinking... and her tongue began tasting the air while her chubby arms waved up and down with excitement.

 

When shall the quotation marks begin, you ask? There is not much to be said at the age of fifty-six days and a few extra hours; a time when newborns instead communicate with grunts, babble and soft coos. Words will of course spill from rose-like pouts in the months to come, something to look forward to in the chapters ahead. For now we will refer to their conversations in thoughtful italics.

 

From under warm blankets tucked snugly around her bulging waist, Empress gestured to Ballerina with a mouth full of sea foam, kick of her left leg and a giggle - and a plan was made. The impossibility of handshakes at such delicate an age were replaced with the only way babies might seal a deal: the plan was solidified with a small sneeze. In forty-two days from this wet, drizzly day, a grand gold-speckled baby shower shall take place: one finer than a swollen seven-month pregnant mommy-to-be could have planned on her own. It would be a baby shower that would celebrate their presence rather than anticipate their arrival. Most importantly: a soiree that might have the three embraced by the love of fairy godmothers for an afternoon.

 

She knew her role. Born twelve-minutes ahead of her thimble-sized sister, Empress knew that this party plan was one that she must lead – just as she had done in the birthing canal… that is, the slippery slide that connected her home of nine months with an unknown utopia. It had been a warm, low-lit hideaway that would gently rock them to sleep and with, muted vibrations to welcome the dawn of a new day; padded walls of the slide had begun to close behind her to accelerate her journey and spit her out into a space of brilliant white with one mighty, final push. Blinded by, and somewhat startled by such bright light, she had entered the world with healthy lungs so that all might know she had arrived! The first-born. The brave heart. The little leader.

 

Rapunzel looked down at her girls with a smile and glimmer in her eyes, soft curls of her golden mane falling from her shoulders and into the gasping fingers of her Empress, je t’aime. Boldly and in the very spirit of her first-born, Empress let out a double-dimpled coo.