Nov
25
Can You Hear Me Now?
Filed Under Baby Book
11-30-07
This bun in the oven remains very abstract to me, an idea trapped in a bag in my wife’s midsection. I’m forty four years old. Starting late. Two generations wrapped in the cloth of my lifetime. Kinda numb. Curious. Liquid. Ready.
He has a face but I cannot see it, cannot even picture it. The crazy sonogram pictures are like viewing some small marine vertebrate through murky water. Hardly flattering. Borderline scary. He has a fully formed spine, hands, ears, pretty much the lot. A few more weeks and his lungs will be ready to breathe the atmosphere. Can he smell me when his mom smells me? He can hear now. What does he make of my voice? Does he have any thoughts? Is he pondering me, the guy who talks to him through his mom’s belly…who says dumb stuff. “Hey in there, you better be nice to your mother after all she’s done for you!” What is he thinking right now? I guess I’ll be wondering that for the rest of his life, hoping he is happy and he loves me.
People ask, do you feel guilty bringing a kid into a filthy mean world, a world where he may not have clean water or air and where people willingly blow themselves up in crowded markets. I do not. The joy and wisdom of having a child and a family is an end in itself. And it will all end when it ends. That said, I have little faith in humanity’s long term future. I’m a micro optimist and macro fatalist. Today in Sudan thousands are marching brandishing knives and swords and calling for the execution of a British schoolteacher who had the audacity to name her classroom mascot teddy bear Muhammed. Beyond pathetic, BUT its not going to interfere with the sanctity of my joy at my son’s arrival. No sir, Muhammed!
I ran into my old art studio mate today, a sassy painter of dog portraits. She had beautiful healthy twins three months ago after six months on bed rest. SIX MONTHS! “I complained that I had no shoes till I met a man who had no feet.” And it wasn’t just laying back and watching Oprah while someone brought her lemonades. She suffered from constant bleeding and complications which had her fearful she’d lose the babies at any moment. Borderline insanity. The sublime gratitude in her voice enveloped me like the soft and velvety robes of a proud queen as she told me about the first few months with her kids.
“I couldn’t fully embrace my twins the first week or so. It was too surreal. I was so fearful they might go away. It wasn’t till both of their social security cards showed up in the mail that I realized I had these two people in my life. They were MY children. It was happening. I sat in my car sobbing holding the two social security cards in my hands.”
Yes, as tough as we may think we have it, it could still be a helluva lot worse. No doubt. So I try to be calm and instill calmness in Jodi. These past 2-1/2 years, she has proven her metal, her resilience, her fortitude, her drive, her hunger. And with few episodes of drama or weirdness. I mean, hey, beat on any of us with a stick long enough and we’ll have a weak moment…and she’s had a few, but only a few and frankly, they were justified. She pushed through these like a hot knife through unsalted butter. Like a prize fighter each night she punches a needle into her taught belly. Knockout or on points…..she will win this bout. We will win.
So you just lay there and incubate, honey. I’ll do everything else.
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