My wife recently gave birth to a new little baby. Our second. We didn’t find out the gender. And from when we first had our first miscarriage, she was in some stage of pregnancy or recovery for over a year. When I almost lost my life, the one memory that crystallized in my mind, that gave me an anchor to hold onto when all I wanted to do was let go, was when my wife gave birth to our son. That moment was and is everything in my mind, proven so in a moment of near-death. So to have it happen again, especially after so much heartache and pain—from my accident to my wife’s miscarriages—is difficult for me to put into words. Pure and unfiltered joy. Unfettered happiness. The following is a short story written from the perspective of our new little one. Enjoy!
Day 14: It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since we’ve been out. Two weeks since we first started breathing this air. Two weeks since we first tasted freedom. Two weeks since we first smelled Mother’s milk. Two weeks doesn’t feel like a long time, but when you’re first born, two weeks feels like a lifetime. We’ve heard our nickname since we first learned how to listen: Roo. Roo is us. Next, we have Mother. Mother we know intimately. But there is another. Familiar. Father. He holds us. Cradles us. Causes the gas to escape from our stomach. And another…a little boy. Familiar. Brother. He kisses our nose. Rubs our head. Says soft words to us.
There are two others. Familiar, yet different. Furry. Loud. Curious. They loom over us, perturbed that their space shrinks, even as ours expands. They have puzzlingly smelled our being. They seem to remember from before. From when Brother was our size. They have fled from the less pleasant smells that have exited our body. From the loud sounds our lungs exude. Yet, they are protective. Comforting. Close.
This journey has been calm thus far. Mostly. We’ve needed to rest our weary body for majority of the time. Though we do only have a limited means of communicating. Our eyes are still adjusting. Figuring out how to handle the bright orb that penetrates our existence has been tricky. The built-in shutters for our eyes have been an immense help. When the orb leaves, we are able to peer through the shutters easier. This is our time to explore. Not with our bodies. Not yet. But with our senses.
We appreciate the room. We love being able to stretch without being blocked by the walls of confined love. Necessary confinement. We’ve heard that other types are not as secure, not as attached, more orb-like, and vulnerable to theft, so we accept this. Though the space does feel grand. Too grand. The smells and sounds too. The integral dampening system that Mother supplied is missed. Yet. There is a longing.
A longing to return to the confinement. To the isolation and intimacy. Thankfully, Mother and Father know this and have arranged a placeholder. The Swaddle. This comforts us almost as much as being held. Oh the Swaddle. We love it dearly. Not so much the little plastic that often finds its way into our mouth. Thankfully it isn’t employed to silence us, but to distract us from the body that is still turning on. Though after a few exploratory motions, even this brings us great pleasure.
Two weeks. Two weeks of a radical realignment of what we used to know. What we were so sure about. And what we inevitably grew to big for. What we needed to grow out of. A fracturing of our understanding, of our being, of everything that made sense up until it didn’t. A fracturing, yes, but one that offered a completely new way of life. Of expansion. Of birth and rebirth. Of remembrance. Remembrance of those lost, whose hourglass was only given a small portion of sand. Whose power was too great, whose being so magnanimous that a planet so small couldn’t possibly contain them. Whose hourglass, if properly fitted, would fill the space of a thousand suns. Yet, they are able to filter through, their presence loosening the bonds of consciousness, gravitating in and out of our mind’s eye like the memories of ancients past. Watching. Protecting. Comforting.
This exertion has exhausted us greatly. But we felt that we needed to offer some insight into what was being felt. Experienced. Witnessed.
We are happy. Healthy. Here. We are growing. Feeding. Resting. We are loved. Cherished. Nurtured.
We have been here before, too. Though not in this way. No, this way is new. Exciting. Vitalizing. Like youthful yang to our precious yin.
We’ve gotten confirmation for how we are feeling. What we are, at least until we more fully understand ourselves and our existence. They have given us a starting point from which to build and expand from:
Girl.
