The filibuster continues.
For those of you just tuning in, I am daylogging a baby out of my wife’s womb. It’s all very complicated and pointless, so I heartily encourage you to page back through the recent daylogs for some additional clarification if you’re feeling vaguely masochistic.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the unplanned holiday atmosphere surrounding a birth-- how it’s one of the few times in life that you get to, no-questions-asked, take time off from work or school; call friends and family that you haven’t called in ages-- even if there’s a grudge standing in the way; essentially step out of ordinary time. The only other circumstances that I can come up with that match these criteria are generally sorrowful: a death in the family, a serious injury or sudden sickness.
So that said, what’s with these women who schedule their c-sections around important appoinments, meetings at work, etc.? And if I may rant a little further afield (and after all, what’s a filibuster for?) what’s with folks who insist on knowing the gender of their kid before it’s born? I’ve heard the arguments: “we want to know what kind of clothes and toys to get”; “our friends and family were bugging us to find out”; “we couldn’t control on our own curiosity, and damn it, if we can know, why shouldn’t we?”
How many times in life do you get to be genuinely surprised by something, but also guaranteed that the surprise will be pleasant?
Would you pencil in the moment of your death if you could?
I’m pretty sure Heather’s walking around Green Lake as I sit here writing this in my glass tower cubicle. Including the approach to the lake from our house that’s at least a three mile loop. She’s done this loop the last three days, in addition to weeding the garden, doing the laundry, the dishes, vacuuming, mopping: generally anything she can think of to “get things started.” Mind you, she’s over nine months pregnant, she’s lost her mucus plug and she could go into labor at any moment. Hell, she has trouble tying her own shoes! And still she walks over three miles a day. Should I not be impressed by this?
Most of life’s enduringly enjoyable gifts sneak up on us slowly (so-called love at first sight not withstanding). A birth is the exception that proves this rule. I’ve witnessed two so far in my life: my niece ten years ago and my son nearly three. Both times I could literally feel the fabric of the universe stretching, tearing and mending itself again. Each time, I swear, I saw God’s hands moving like He was the world's most insouciant sushi chef while I watched in grinning tearful awe.
God’s good at this creation shit. I can’t begrudge him that (though I might fault him on paying attention or staying sober.) And only He knows how soon He's gonna be at it again. But, I tell ya: as little faith as I have in my life, this one shred's unshakeable: what's coming is well worth the wait.