Thursday, February 16, 2012

before you were born

When Ramona was born, I was speechless. I've never been so silent in my life. The nurses handed her to me so proudly, as if to say, Look what you made! Look what we delivered so well for you! Rejoice, she is wonderful! But I greeted her with no words. I knew a pronouncment was what they were looking for. Words were not what I had for her. Words just wouldn't do.
The miracle is not that you give birth to a baby. The miracle is the love. How it comes from nowhere. How without worry, without doing a thing, it arrives right on time.

This is a trust I have in the universe. Before they are born we know nothing of them but the things we place on them. You are a boy. You kick. You are the right size. You are my second child. But I don't know you. I know nothing of you. But this time I'm not worried about the place of my heart,because I trust in the universe. I trust that I was chosen for you. I trust that you are my path.

14 more weeks to go.

Saturday, February 11, 2012


We had a sonogram a few days ago, and despite my belief that all sonogram pictures look the same and belong in medical texts, this one is sweet to me.

Ramona is beginning to believe the story we are feeding her about there being a baby in my tummy. And she's drawing conclusions.

Last night she was inspecting the growing tummy, and turns to me in shock and asks, "Mama, is my baby brother PEEING in your tummy??"

I believe this is the smartest thing she's ever said. My mind was blown at how my small girl could construct such a rational and scientific conclusion. Then I shocked myself by explaining that, yes he is, but he's really little and it's just a little bit of pee-pee and it actually isn't gross.

One time a first grader asked me what drugs were and I said I don't know. I used to skip the part where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was murdered with a shotgun while he stood on a balcony. I didn't think six year olds needed to know that. I've been uncomfortable with the hard stuff since the beginning of time.

But now I have my own small girl firing questions at me. Confusing and interesting questions I may or may not be able to answer intelligently. But I'm committed to telling the truth. I'm also aware these are softballs and to expect the questions to just get harder.

I can't help it. Isn't my daughter smart? Isn't my baby cute? Aren't humans kind of built to be wonderful? Let's just marvel together at nature for a bit.