Miles had strep throat over the weekend. Not such a good time!
(Incidentally: How can a THROAT ailment affect both the stomach and bowels? One of life's little mysteries, for sure.)
Anyway, we were in a doctor's office on Friday, waiting and waiting in our exam room, when we heard a baby crying in a room nearby. I said, "That sounds like an upset baby, huh?"
M: "Yeah. He probably doesn't like going to the doctor's."
Me: "Hmmm... Maybe. He just doesn't understand what's happening to him. But you're not crying. You're being GREAT, and very patient, because you know coming to the doctor will make you better faster. It's too bad we can't explain things to babies like we can to 5-year-olds."
M: "Yeah. It's because we don't speak their language."
Just a girl, asking for grace, to survive her happily-ever-after.
6.25.2007
6.20.2007
I Got Tagged!
So... I got tagged! How exciting! I think these things are to be followed up upon a bit faster than 4 days later :) -- but I'm on Internet break this week, as I'm not working and I'm trying to stay busy BEYOND the home office.
So, anyway, thanks to Kieva (a newfound blogger!) for tagging me with the Five Things I Dig About Jesus meme. Here are mine:
1. He cried -- and He laughed.
2. He forever tied together food + conversation/ conversion.
Just a thought: Where would "church" be today, if not for the power of social events -- usually centered around food -- to forge connections we couldn't make in an hour of worship, to give us common ground and a greater level of comfort around each other, to generate good feelings and shared experience? You see how -- bad casseroles completely withstanding -- potluck is truly a Divine idea! Seriously, I know of no matching example in history where communal dining becomes such a life-changing, sacred force. It's not just symbolism -- Jesus really did bring "bread for the soul."
3. He sought out the not-so-polished people. And He made them his crowd -- because instead of merely loving them, He actually LIKED them.
...I bet the disciples -- being crusty, fisherman and tax-collector types -- were apt to get lost in the middle of an all-day walk and forget they were striding next to the Son of God. I bet, sometimes, they told inappropriate stories. Sometimes, they said crazy and crass things. And I bet, sometimes, Jesus laughed. I'm pretty sure He smiled.
4. He didn't have to do anything on earth, but He did.
He didn't have to prove anything to be the Divine, Fully-God Self He was and is -- but he did something very, very big nonetheless.
Suspend the question of sin for just a moment: How else would human beings know, really KNOW, that someone so unlike us loves, loves, loves us -- silly little us! -- except that He lay down his life to call us "brothers" and "friends?"
5. He's alive.
It's just good to know, that the Jesus I pray to isn't frozen in time
or stuck in one place or even confined to the pages of a very great book. He's alive, and one day I'll get to be in His crowd... eating tacos, I hope, and listening to the BEST conversation!
So, anyway, thanks to Kieva (a newfound blogger!) for tagging me with the Five Things I Dig About Jesus meme. Here are mine:
1. He cried -- and He laughed.
2. He forever tied together food + conversation/ conversion.
Just a thought: Where would "church" be today, if not for the power of social events -- usually centered around food -- to forge connections we couldn't make in an hour of worship, to give us common ground and a greater level of comfort around each other, to generate good feelings and shared experience? You see how -- bad casseroles completely withstanding -- potluck is truly a Divine idea! Seriously, I know of no matching example in history where communal dining becomes such a life-changing, sacred force. It's not just symbolism -- Jesus really did bring "bread for the soul."
3. He sought out the not-so-polished people. And He made them his crowd -- because instead of merely loving them, He actually LIKED them.
...I bet the disciples -- being crusty, fisherman and tax-collector types -- were apt to get lost in the middle of an all-day walk and forget they were striding next to the Son of God. I bet, sometimes, they told inappropriate stories. Sometimes, they said crazy and crass things. And I bet, sometimes, Jesus laughed. I'm pretty sure He smiled.
4. He didn't have to do anything on earth, but He did.
He didn't have to prove anything to be the Divine, Fully-God Self He was and is -- but he did something very, very big nonetheless.
Suspend the question of sin for just a moment: How else would human beings know, really KNOW, that someone so unlike us loves, loves, loves us -- silly little us! -- except that He lay down his life to call us "brothers" and "friends?"
5. He's alive.
It's just good to know, that the Jesus I pray to isn't frozen in time
or stuck in one place or even confined to the pages of a very great book. He's alive, and one day I'll get to be in His crowd... eating tacos, I hope, and listening to the BEST conversation!
6.14.2007
Just Bursting...
So I'm catching up on work a few feet away from the TV room, and my boys are starting a movie. A few bars of opening music should be all it takes to ID the film. Let's see... how to approximate?
Da-da-da DUUUM-DUUUM. Da-da-da-DAH.....
Or, if this makes it easier:
Miles has -- and has had for a couple of years now -- a total Star Wars fixation. For the longest time, he'd never even seen one of the movies; the gear and the action figures were enough to get him hooked.
We finally let him view A New Hope at age 4 1/2. Since summer began, he's moved on to episodes 5, 6 and 1, courtesy the VHS collection of our local library.
We parents have decided he can't complete the series, at least for a couple of years, because things are about to take a much darker turn on screen. Fortunately for us, the boy seems content to REWATCH all the episodes he's seen thus far. Unfortunately for us, he would watch nothing else if we let him.
This is how I have come to memorize large chunks of Episode 4: A New Hope. Need examples?
"They've shut down the main power converter. We'll be destroyed for sure. This is madness!"
"Secret mission? What are you talking about?!"
"We seem to be made to suffer. It's our lot in life." (C3P0)
"But I was going to the Tashi Station to pick up some new power converters!" (Luke)
"Help Me Obi-Wan Kenobi -- you're my only hope." (Leia)
"These are not the droids you're looking for." (Obi-Wan)
"Never heard of the Millenium Falcon? It's the ship that made the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs!" (Han Solo)
"I should have expected to find you holding Vader's leash. I recognized your foul stench when I came on board." (Leia)
...Need I go on? It's a little disturbing that I have become a total SW nerd so late in life. But, for the loves of boyhood, what's a parent to do?
Anyway, I'm just typing away in here, listening to the soundtrack of our recent lives out there, when I stop to observe the backs of my two boys on our couch. They look so much alike from this angle -- the bigger red head and the littler red head. Both shirtless in the summer heat, Jer's legs propped on the coffee table and Miles long, skinny limbs splayed over his dad. Miles is completely focused, and Jeremy is patiently sitting through his umpteenth viewing.
I look at them and I shake my head... in wonder or awe or I don't know what. But I look at them, in this very ordinary everyday moment, and I think my heart just might burst out of my chest.
I am bursting for these two people who share my life. Who make my life. And now we get another! Can a girl even ask for more than this?
Da-da-da DUUUM-DUUUM. Da-da-da-DAH.....
Or, if this makes it easier:
Miles has -- and has had for a couple of years now -- a total Star Wars fixation. For the longest time, he'd never even seen one of the movies; the gear and the action figures were enough to get him hooked.
We finally let him view A New Hope at age 4 1/2. Since summer began, he's moved on to episodes 5, 6 and 1, courtesy the VHS collection of our local library.
We parents have decided he can't complete the series, at least for a couple of years, because things are about to take a much darker turn on screen. Fortunately for us, the boy seems content to REWATCH all the episodes he's seen thus far. Unfortunately for us, he would watch nothing else if we let him.
This is how I have come to memorize large chunks of Episode 4: A New Hope. Need examples?
"They've shut down the main power converter. We'll be destroyed for sure. This is madness!"
"Secret mission? What are you talking about?!"
"We seem to be made to suffer. It's our lot in life." (C3P0)
"But I was going to the Tashi Station to pick up some new power converters!" (Luke)
"Help Me Obi-Wan Kenobi -- you're my only hope." (Leia)
"These are not the droids you're looking for." (Obi-Wan)
"Never heard of the Millenium Falcon? It's the ship that made the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs!" (Han Solo)
"I should have expected to find you holding Vader's leash. I recognized your foul stench when I came on board." (Leia)
...Need I go on? It's a little disturbing that I have become a total SW nerd so late in life. But, for the loves of boyhood, what's a parent to do?
Anyway, I'm just typing away in here, listening to the soundtrack of our recent lives out there, when I stop to observe the backs of my two boys on our couch. They look so much alike from this angle -- the bigger red head and the littler red head. Both shirtless in the summer heat, Jer's legs propped on the coffee table and Miles long, skinny limbs splayed over his dad. Miles is completely focused, and Jeremy is patiently sitting through his umpteenth viewing.
I look at them and I shake my head... in wonder or awe or I don't know what. But I look at them, in this very ordinary everyday moment, and I think my heart just might burst out of my chest.
I am bursting for these two people who share my life. Who make my life. And now we get another! Can a girl even ask for more than this?
6.11.2007
Monday Musing...
So I started the day behind and things aren't exactly looking up from here. I think I might not actually be so good at the fabled multi-tasking as I thought, because today I have (really, not hyperbole here) about 50 different things, in probably 5 different categories of "thing," to do for work. Instead of feeling good that I have these multiple jobs afoot, and not the sort of redundant day that used to get me down, I feel more like my head might explode.
Ah, well... "out of the frying pan," as they say. Or, "the grass isn't always greener." Or, "if it ain't one thing...." Or, "another day, another dollar."
(Um, this was supposed to be a lift-my-spirits and get-me-back-in-the-writing-groove break, but the words have gone so far south so fast, I hesitate to keep typing. Soon, I'll be SPEAKING these overused little ditties and sounding very much like a traveling salesman.)
Anyway, I was thinking: This is the kind of day I ALMOST wished I worked at The Office in Scranton. Yeah, so while my soul might be slowly compressed by the futility of my professional life, at least I'd have Dwight around for amusement, and Pam and Jim with whom to quip.
...Interruption while I help Lori in Louisiana log into our web site, email Rachel in Ohio a credit card authorization form, and leave a gushy message for Donna in Virginia. (I think she's put out with me.)
...2nd interruption while I walk Jess in Oklahoma through our online ordering process. (Deep sigh. Much time lost. This person is NOT a fan of the computer age...)
Hey! Maybe I DO work in The Office. Of a sort. Plenty of small, not-that-dramatic moments accrue every day, and I bet I could turn them into something more interesting -- poetic license and all. I should perhaps start compiling my stranger interactions, in the hopes of a TV deal to fund my children's higher education.
So I have no visible co-workers or clients... just a small glitch to overcome for a visual medium, RIGHT?! Maybe America really DOES want to see a fictionalized account of a home office Lone Ranger, daily fighting the good fight with a slew of testy/ needy clients & quirky co-workers (so far -- all too familiar, right?) ; ever glitchy, old house technology coupled with charming ineptitude for dealing with said technology; a mound of volunteer tasks including food for dead folks (Bereavement Committee) ; regular familial and/or household interruptions -- not limited to but including bouncing balls gone over cinder-block fences and rotting rat carcasses on the patio; plus never quite enough time or hot coffee.
I bet I'd make good radio theater, anyway....
Ah, well... "out of the frying pan," as they say. Or, "the grass isn't always greener." Or, "if it ain't one thing...." Or, "another day, another dollar."
(Um, this was supposed to be a lift-my-spirits and get-me-back-in-the-writing-groove break, but the words have gone so far south so fast, I hesitate to keep typing. Soon, I'll be SPEAKING these overused little ditties and sounding very much like a traveling salesman.)
Anyway, I was thinking: This is the kind of day I ALMOST wished I worked at The Office in Scranton. Yeah, so while my soul might be slowly compressed by the futility of my professional life, at least I'd have Dwight around for amusement, and Pam and Jim with whom to quip.
...Interruption while I help Lori in Louisiana log into our web site, email Rachel in Ohio a credit card authorization form, and leave a gushy message for Donna in Virginia. (I think she's put out with me.)
...2nd interruption while I walk Jess in Oklahoma through our online ordering process. (Deep sigh. Much time lost. This person is NOT a fan of the computer age...)
Hey! Maybe I DO work in The Office. Of a sort. Plenty of small, not-that-dramatic moments accrue every day, and I bet I could turn them into something more interesting -- poetic license and all. I should perhaps start compiling my stranger interactions, in the hopes of a TV deal to fund my children's higher education.
So I have no visible co-workers or clients... just a small glitch to overcome for a visual medium, RIGHT?! Maybe America really DOES want to see a fictionalized account of a home office Lone Ranger, daily fighting the good fight with a slew of testy/ needy clients & quirky co-workers (so far -- all too familiar, right?) ; ever glitchy, old house technology coupled with charming ineptitude for dealing with said technology; a mound of volunteer tasks including food for dead folks (Bereavement Committee) ; regular familial and/or household interruptions -- not limited to but including bouncing balls gone over cinder-block fences and rotting rat carcasses on the patio; plus never quite enough time or hot coffee.
I bet I'd make good radio theater, anyway....
6.07.2007
Oh, yeah, I have a BLOG!
So, I'm pretty much a loser. A big, blog-ignoring loser. A blu-ger. (Not to be confused with those little things... oh, nevermind me & my middle school humor.)
It's just that a lot of small, neat, adorably precious moments have passed in my life since March -- not that any of you would know it, the way I fail to post even the slightest mention of them!
I'm determined to do better. Really. Seriously. I have this long list of Miles-isms in my head (if only I could remember the file name under which said document is saved!?) that I could post throughout the summer, even if nothing else happens. But then, something is always happening. Like today, at lunch, when Miles stuck his tongue out at me. I thought he was being rude until I began to glean a word and a gesture in his antics. "See? See dere?" He retracted the organ and said, clearly, "I know what all those little bumps on my tongue are called. Do you? They're called taste-testers. And, BOY, do they work!"
So, see? See dere? Funny stuff happens all the time! I just have to get myself in gear to WRITE IT DOWN when it does.
I have been working on a rather long essay for about half a month now, and I finally decided, just tonight, to just send it out there not quite polished. It's what I can do for myself today. And I need the feeling of having done SOMETHING today. I miss my blog! I miss the very imperfect effort of writing for my blog. I want it all back! And so I will begin, again. Hopefully, I can retrain my family and friends to stop back by on occasion. As any of you do, enjoy the post below. It's nicely (that is, I hope "nicely," and not "overly") personal. And it's been percolating for a while. :)
Hugs and kisses, friends!
It's just that a lot of small, neat, adorably precious moments have passed in my life since March -- not that any of you would know it, the way I fail to post even the slightest mention of them!
I'm determined to do better. Really. Seriously. I have this long list of Miles-isms in my head (if only I could remember the file name under which said document is saved!?) that I could post throughout the summer, even if nothing else happens. But then, something is always happening. Like today, at lunch, when Miles stuck his tongue out at me. I thought he was being rude until I began to glean a word and a gesture in his antics. "See? See dere?" He retracted the organ and said, clearly, "I know what all those little bumps on my tongue are called. Do you? They're called taste-testers. And, BOY, do they work!"
So, see? See dere? Funny stuff happens all the time! I just have to get myself in gear to WRITE IT DOWN when it does.
I have been working on a rather long essay for about half a month now, and I finally decided, just tonight, to just send it out there not quite polished. It's what I can do for myself today. And I need the feeling of having done SOMETHING today. I miss my blog! I miss the very imperfect effort of writing for my blog. I want it all back! And so I will begin, again. Hopefully, I can retrain my family and friends to stop back by on occasion. As any of you do, enjoy the post below. It's nicely (that is, I hope "nicely," and not "overly") personal. And it's been percolating for a while. :)
Hugs and kisses, friends!
Joining the Club
Openly or inwardly, I think we all enjoy belonging to things. I myself love being "part of the club." I love nothing better than uncovering some fascinating new group of humans and discovering that I, too, can play their reindeer games.
...Well, I love nothing better unless it's uncovering a new person I can co-opt for an existing group, someone whose shiny qualities I suddenly happen to notice and whom I immediately, mentally consign into membership, in some society where I also plan to be.
I like being part, and I like making people feel a part. I'm a big fan of "joining the club."
Oh, I don't tend to join many official entities, like the Junior League or the Rotary. I'm more of an ad-hoc society gal -- the Circle of Friends from college, the "high school girlfriends" group, the "scrapbooking chicas who occasionally email each other" club. I'm always on the lookout for another card-carrying member of Watches Too Much Bravo Reality TV, or an impromptu meet-up of Good Blog Reading + Good Links. I'm a proud participant in two not-so-churchey church groups: "Girls' Night Out" and "Super Secret Girls Night Out." (OK... that second one was actually just a joke; But I like the way it sounds.)
I also maintain membership in clubs I haven't courted, but to which I've been assigned. I hear I'm part of the Rebel-Rouser Sunday School Class. (I probably don't deserve the credit, but I do like a little rock-n-roll in my praise & worship songs!) I'm on both the "Inside Circle" and the "Outer Track" at work. (True, and not worth explaining.)
I've even been known to make up my own clubs. I've recently become part of a somewhat secret society known as Occasionally Bucking the Extended Family's Expectations. (Ah, great fun! The coolest co-members, plus: less guilt/ more free time!) I am definitely part of the Garden-Variety Crazy Club (we can recognize our own insanities, but far from wanting to cure them all, we sometimes prefer the kind of strange that puts us in good company with all the other, everyday crazies).
And then, there's the most recent group I've joined: the Mom-of-Two-Boys club!
Yep, you read that right. I am with child. All gestating, all the time. I am hatching a human egg. And, as we recently found out, the New Baby Brandt (NBB) is definitely a "he."
*
So my favorite club ever -- we who call ourselves family and live at Sherry Lane -- will be adding another male member sometime early fall. I'm still weaving that thought into my reality. Not that I'm so deeply shocked about the "male" part (surprised, yes I was -- but readily and happily adjusted). Instead, I am flabbergasted about the I-have-an-actual-baby-in-here part. I'm absolutely gobsmacked that IT WORKED! That IT'S REAL. That our tribe increases; that my cup overflows. Surely mercy and goodness will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever!
Actually -- this is full disclosure, friends, only for those who want the unvarnished truth -- I tend to draw my references for this event as much from J.K. Rowling as the Bible. Sacrilege? Maybe. But I definitely think of this child as the Harry Potter of my womb. After two little lives began their days in there and then, abruptly, ended them.... Well, this one is "the boy who lived."
He yawned during the 20-week sonogram. And I could see that he has perfectly formed lips, and a tongue. Can you imagine? First, at about 8 weeks, this kid defied my personal odds and began to grow... LEGS! The Boy Who Lived started with tiny little stumps and a pulsating grain of rice for a heart, and then by 12 weeks he had grown LIMBS and CHAMBERS and ORGANS and... and... everything! Now he has a full bladder and skin behind his spine and 71 other things the sonogram technician checked for and found not wanting.
He's a person in there, and he's perfectly healthy. He's both miracle and magic. In his clever, compact, 15-ounce form, this tiny little thing is, even now, increasing my portion of blessing.
When he comes out, I wonder this... How will I ever stop looking at him, now that I know so much? How will I ever make a bed or type an email or pick up a stray sock, for staring at the baby?
In a flash, I know, he'll be a 5-year-old boy. He'll still have the softest cheeks and the same, quizzical eyes, but suddenly his nose will be a mass of fine freckles in need of UVA protection, his mouth two rows of Chicklet teeth to be examined after nightly brushings, his hair a thick and unruly wave in endless want of grooming.
Having this baby spurs me to confess: I have earned none of the good and beautiful I've been given in this life. I don't deserve Jeremy; I'd never have merited our Miles. And yet here I am, again, the beneficiary of God's largesse. I don't deserve all that I have. But -- just so I say this out loud, too -- I have suffered for what I want. I have been very, very sad as I've held pieces of me in the palm of my hands, wondering how I came so undone and at a total loss for how to put myself back together.
It feels over now, that period of time marked by "want" and "empty." It isn't just that we're having a baby, who will help fill in our house and fill up our family. It's that I have somehow managed to refill myself. I felt dry for a long time. Less than me. I was pinched and "dour," as someone recently described that me. But I'm not that now. Not at all. And I think the real news story of the past 2 years -- my "faith story," if ya wanna call it that -- is that all my reassembled, not-perfectly-fitting shards of self actually increase my abilities as a human vessel. Oh, I'm a cracked pot, to be sure. Much less "all together" than before. But the jagged edges somehow soften my own. The cracks make me more graceful, I hope. Gentler on the judgments. Willing to bend and to let go and oh-so-readily to forgive -- myself as well as other people. It's fascinating, really, how the leftover, empty spaces actually make me heavier. They give me gravitas. They allow my soul room to grow.
To put this into local color perspective, it's like my insides are one of those discarded, brown cicada shells you find sticking to the sides of houses and tree trunks and patio furniture all summer long down here -- if the bug were still in the skeleton. Instead of one pristine crack down the back and the perfect outline of a missing insect, I'm more of a bigger cicada with multiple cracks in my exoskeleton... basically a bug busting out all over!
One thing I've noticed about this particular me: I've make peace with "afraid." I don't live in fear, but I face up to having fears. I know, now, what it means to be the father of the possessed child, both believing and unbelieving, all at the same time.
*
For a moment at the beginning of the sonogram -- just a split-second, really -- I turned my head to the screen and I didn't see anything. Oh, I mean, I saw a baby -- a well-formed, unmoving little image of a human baby -- but I didn't see the living, pulsating animation I expected from the magic machine. There was no movement of any sort. Just a picture -- immovable -- like a seared memory. No words had yet escaped the tech, and I went, hyper-drive, from cool and sober to a sweaty pool of mess. I stilled my breath and clenched my lungs against the tone of pity I could almost hear breaking the silence. But then she did speak, and I could hear in her voice that we were fine. The baby and I, both... just fine. I had no idea I was that scared until it was over.
But when it was over, it was over. We're fine. I don't fear for this baby anymore. I'm not tentative about his existence or his entry into the world. He's here. Now. He's real. And -- just for the moment -- he's all mine.
So welcome to my club, New Baby Brandt. I can't remember how I've waited this long to add you to the ranks of the world, but here you are, now, and I think you're timing's just fine. You should know the first group you'll join is fairly exclusive -- I've picked the absolute best boys I could find to be your dad and your brother. They set the bar high. Along with me, and now you, the four of us make up a family. A tribe. ...We are our own Super Secret Society.
You're part of it, NBB, and we're glad to have you join. Participation is at your will, but we do think you'll be willing, all in good time. For now, my sweetest little life, just know that no matter what happens -- ever -- to you or to me -- you are in my club. And membership in this society can never be revoked.
...Well, I love nothing better unless it's uncovering a new person I can co-opt for an existing group, someone whose shiny qualities I suddenly happen to notice and whom I immediately, mentally consign into membership, in some society where I also plan to be.
I like being part, and I like making people feel a part. I'm a big fan of "joining the club."
Oh, I don't tend to join many official entities, like the Junior League or the Rotary. I'm more of an ad-hoc society gal -- the Circle of Friends from college, the "high school girlfriends" group, the "scrapbooking chicas who occasionally email each other" club. I'm always on the lookout for another card-carrying member of Watches Too Much Bravo Reality TV, or an impromptu meet-up of Good Blog Reading + Good Links. I'm a proud participant in two not-so-churchey church groups: "Girls' Night Out" and "Super Secret Girls Night Out." (OK... that second one was actually just a joke; But I like the way it sounds.)
I also maintain membership in clubs I haven't courted, but to which I've been assigned. I hear I'm part of the Rebel-Rouser Sunday School Class. (I probably don't deserve the credit, but I do like a little rock-n-roll in my praise & worship songs!) I'm on both the "Inside Circle" and the "Outer Track" at work. (True, and not worth explaining.)
I've even been known to make up my own clubs. I've recently become part of a somewhat secret society known as Occasionally Bucking the Extended Family's Expectations. (Ah, great fun! The coolest co-members, plus: less guilt/ more free time!) I am definitely part of the Garden-Variety Crazy Club (we can recognize our own insanities, but far from wanting to cure them all, we sometimes prefer the kind of strange that puts us in good company with all the other, everyday crazies).
And then, there's the most recent group I've joined: the Mom-of-Two-Boys club!
Yep, you read that right. I am with child. All gestating, all the time. I am hatching a human egg. And, as we recently found out, the New Baby Brandt (NBB) is definitely a "he."
*
So my favorite club ever -- we who call ourselves family and live at Sherry Lane -- will be adding another male member sometime early fall. I'm still weaving that thought into my reality. Not that I'm so deeply shocked about the "male" part (surprised, yes I was -- but readily and happily adjusted). Instead, I am flabbergasted about the I-have-an-actual-baby-in-here part. I'm absolutely gobsmacked that IT WORKED! That IT'S REAL. That our tribe increases; that my cup overflows. Surely mercy and goodness will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever!
Actually -- this is full disclosure, friends, only for those who want the unvarnished truth -- I tend to draw my references for this event as much from J.K. Rowling as the Bible. Sacrilege? Maybe. But I definitely think of this child as the Harry Potter of my womb. After two little lives began their days in there and then, abruptly, ended them.... Well, this one is "the boy who lived."
He yawned during the 20-week sonogram. And I could see that he has perfectly formed lips, and a tongue. Can you imagine? First, at about 8 weeks, this kid defied my personal odds and began to grow... LEGS! The Boy Who Lived started with tiny little stumps and a pulsating grain of rice for a heart, and then by 12 weeks he had grown LIMBS and CHAMBERS and ORGANS and... and... everything! Now he has a full bladder and skin behind his spine and 71 other things the sonogram technician checked for and found not wanting.
He's a person in there, and he's perfectly healthy. He's both miracle and magic. In his clever, compact, 15-ounce form, this tiny little thing is, even now, increasing my portion of blessing.
When he comes out, I wonder this... How will I ever stop looking at him, now that I know so much? How will I ever make a bed or type an email or pick up a stray sock, for staring at the baby?
In a flash, I know, he'll be a 5-year-old boy. He'll still have the softest cheeks and the same, quizzical eyes, but suddenly his nose will be a mass of fine freckles in need of UVA protection, his mouth two rows of Chicklet teeth to be examined after nightly brushings, his hair a thick and unruly wave in endless want of grooming.
Having this baby spurs me to confess: I have earned none of the good and beautiful I've been given in this life. I don't deserve Jeremy; I'd never have merited our Miles. And yet here I am, again, the beneficiary of God's largesse. I don't deserve all that I have. But -- just so I say this out loud, too -- I have suffered for what I want. I have been very, very sad as I've held pieces of me in the palm of my hands, wondering how I came so undone and at a total loss for how to put myself back together.
It feels over now, that period of time marked by "want" and "empty." It isn't just that we're having a baby, who will help fill in our house and fill up our family. It's that I have somehow managed to refill myself. I felt dry for a long time. Less than me. I was pinched and "dour," as someone recently described that me. But I'm not that now. Not at all. And I think the real news story of the past 2 years -- my "faith story," if ya wanna call it that -- is that all my reassembled, not-perfectly-fitting shards of self actually increase my abilities as a human vessel. Oh, I'm a cracked pot, to be sure. Much less "all together" than before. But the jagged edges somehow soften my own. The cracks make me more graceful, I hope. Gentler on the judgments. Willing to bend and to let go and oh-so-readily to forgive -- myself as well as other people. It's fascinating, really, how the leftover, empty spaces actually make me heavier. They give me gravitas. They allow my soul room to grow.
To put this into local color perspective, it's like my insides are one of those discarded, brown cicada shells you find sticking to the sides of houses and tree trunks and patio furniture all summer long down here -- if the bug were still in the skeleton. Instead of one pristine crack down the back and the perfect outline of a missing insect, I'm more of a bigger cicada with multiple cracks in my exoskeleton... basically a bug busting out all over!
One thing I've noticed about this particular me: I've make peace with "afraid." I don't live in fear, but I face up to having fears. I know, now, what it means to be the father of the possessed child, both believing and unbelieving, all at the same time.
*
For a moment at the beginning of the sonogram -- just a split-second, really -- I turned my head to the screen and I didn't see anything. Oh, I mean, I saw a baby -- a well-formed, unmoving little image of a human baby -- but I didn't see the living, pulsating animation I expected from the magic machine. There was no movement of any sort. Just a picture -- immovable -- like a seared memory. No words had yet escaped the tech, and I went, hyper-drive, from cool and sober to a sweaty pool of mess. I stilled my breath and clenched my lungs against the tone of pity I could almost hear breaking the silence. But then she did speak, and I could hear in her voice that we were fine. The baby and I, both... just fine. I had no idea I was that scared until it was over.
But when it was over, it was over. We're fine. I don't fear for this baby anymore. I'm not tentative about his existence or his entry into the world. He's here. Now. He's real. And -- just for the moment -- he's all mine.
So welcome to my club, New Baby Brandt. I can't remember how I've waited this long to add you to the ranks of the world, but here you are, now, and I think you're timing's just fine. You should know the first group you'll join is fairly exclusive -- I've picked the absolute best boys I could find to be your dad and your brother. They set the bar high. Along with me, and now you, the four of us make up a family. A tribe. ...We are our own Super Secret Society.
You're part of it, NBB, and we're glad to have you join. Participation is at your will, but we do think you'll be willing, all in good time. For now, my sweetest little life, just know that no matter what happens -- ever -- to you or to me -- you are in my club. And membership in this society can never be revoked.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)