Nyara pov
A wave of unfamiliar nervousness washed over me as I dressed for my art class. A simple white long-sleeved shirt and olive green overalls felt like a costume, a stark contrast to the designer dresses and tailored suits that used to define my wardrobe. Today was different. Today, I was a mother, stepping into the public eye for the first time with Iyla. The thought sent a flutter of anxiety through my chest, a constant, nagging reminder of how drastically my life had changed.
I turned to see Iyla sitting on my bed, her small feet dangling off the edge, her eyes following my every move. She watched me with an innocent curiosity that both warmed and unsettled me. I released my twist-out, letting my curly afro spring free.
"I'm all done now," I announced, a smile tugging at my lips.
Iyla clapped her hands, her face lighting up. "Wow, Mommy, you wook so pretty!"
I walked over to the bed and gently tapped her nose. "Thank you. You look very pretty, too."
Her little face turned shyly to the side. "Tank you," she mumbled, her voice barely audible.
I smiled. She was shy, just like I was at her age. I picked her up, standing her on the floor, and gave her outfit a once-over. The overalls were perfect, and the long sleeves of her shirt adequately concealed the constellation of stars on her arms. I didn't want anyone to see them, to judge her like they had judged me.
"Alright, come on, let's go pack your backpack," I said, leading her towards the living room.
She paused, then scurried back to the bed, grabbing her tan teddy bear. That bear never left her side. Not even when I used the bathroom or took a shower. She was always there, waiting patiently, teddy bear in tow.
I grabbed her new strawberry backpack, the bright color a stark contrast to my usual muted tones. I packed her jacket, some snacks, juice boxes, a few candies and chips, and a small water bottle, placing it in the side pocket. I was a bundle of nerves, double-checking everything, making sure I had her social security card and health card tucked safely into my purse.
"Iyla, baby, you ready to go?" I asked, knowing she was right behind me.
"Wes, Mommy, I ready," she said, slipping on her TheraSpecs sunglasses, the dark lenses shielding her eyes from the bright lights. She grabbed my hand, her small fingers fitting perfectly into mine, and we headed towards the garage. As we walked, I thought about the art class, about the other parents, about the questions they might ask. The anxiety was a tight knot in my stomach, but I took a deep breath, reminding myself that Iyla was my priority. Everything else would have to wait.