They are here, officially, and fabulous. And so is their mother. In the middle of the night (for us East Coast folk), Beyoncé hopped onto Instagram to make her first announcement of the arrival of her divine progeny to celebrate their first month of life.
By the time I woke up, over six million people had given her and these kiddos a virtual squee by liking the photo. Rumi and Sir Carter were born in June, Gemini twins as many internet folks prophesized.
Wearing blue panties, reminiscent of the photo she released earlier this year, she is adorned in an excessive amount of blue, pink and purple floral ruffles, in front of a flower arch. A tiny bit of her belly poking out, angled and exposed just so, allowing you to celebrate her for being brave enough to show her belly 4 weeks postpartum but living in the shadows as to not tell the full tale of what carrying twins will do to a taut belly.
Remember this photo? Remember how people mocked her photo shoot, the flowers, the green veil, the non-matching bra and panty set. I wrote about it earlier this year.
Of course, the internet cannot handle the announcement of the arrival of these babies. People are either fan-girting themselves into a frenzy over the beautiful photo she posted late last night, or rolling their eyes in envy at the fact that they weren’t put together enough to look like this a month after their kids were born. Beyoncé still isn’t able to get her life without having people trying to knock her down.
Why are people so hype about a woman and babies they don’t know and will never meet? I would ask that, perhaps you inquire why people are so set on tearing down the celebration of life of two beautiful Black babies born to parents who seem to love and adore them, who have means to provide for them and who can give them access to things that I know my poor Black ass won’t ever see. So why are people mad?
People are mad because Black babies bring us hope. They are cause for celebration, I mean, all babies are. But Black babies grow up to be Black women who endure racial and gendered violence, Black men who are emasculated by white supremacy and encouraged to be perpetrators of gendered violence to non-male people, and Black non-binary folk who endure both of these scenarios and worse. Black babies start on clean slates, receiving love and adoration from their parents, giving us reasons to keep going, to keep fighting, to speak up. They make us want to strive towards a world where we thrive instead of barely surviving. Every Black baby born by choice, issued from a Black woman’s womb, to a world that has called its origin cursed is birthed in rebellion and resistance.
And in resistance, we also come to a place of acceptance. We were okay with Beyoncé hiding a little, looking a whole lot of flawless and then, then, she dropped this photo.
I almost fell to my knees.
Birthing is serious business. Regardless of how your baby or babies were delivered, it is a huge change for your body and for theirs. Most people don’t have maids, nannies, personal trainers, personal chefs, stylists, photographers, hair stylists and makeup artists at their beck and call. So chances are, most people aren’t gonna be primped and pampered in stilettos, a high waisted mini skirt and full makeup while using the best of postpartum cleavage to slay us all. Most people don’t have time for that. Beyoncé had time and help to make it all possible.
I was hoping she’d take a little more time for her unveiling of her postpartum body. I remember reading about her preparing herself for a 3 day residency at Revel in Atlantic City in May 2012, just 4 short months after Blue was born in. I had hoped she would take her time. Fact is though, it aint my business.
Who am I or, who is anyone to say what one of the most recognizable and famous women in the world does with her body and when? Who is to say, other than her, that she is not at her best and living her best life when she’s in heels and looking stage ready? Whether she’s in pajama pants and an unkempt ponytail or going out on a date night with her husband to get reprieve from going from a mom of one to mom of three overnight, she deserves to enjoy it.
So I’ll sit and try to temper the patriarchal conditioning within me that demands that she stay in the house, in hiding for the next few months to love on her babies and look as rough as I felt for the first year of both of my kids’ lives. Cuz there does have to be a balance between being a good, dedicated parent and finding the woman in you, loving up on *her*, unattached from that man you said I do to and the kids you’ve birthed. Filling your own up, which is what Jenina and I are constantly talking about…
Whoa. I think Beyoncé just retaught me a lesson I didn’t even know I needed to learn.
Brown Girls Out Loud 