I cried the other day hearing Liam Clancy remember a departed friend, encountered in "that brief window of consciousness that is given to us between the two great mysteries."
What can you say, as you wait for the window to open for a child?
I thought when I started pregnancy that I would gain some insight from the experience. I would learn something and be able to report it to the world. Some profound understanding about this mystery would reveal itself. I would be able to say that growing a baby is “like” this or that.
Maybe it’s no surprise: I don’t understand anything. In my body, something tremendous has transpired, with no particular effort on my part. I have become extremely large, and I have had feelings about that. But when your body is co-opted for reproductive purposes, there’s not much you can do. The challenge is to feel, and to keep feeling. To note the physical and emotional landscape, all the wonder and trepidation and uncomprehending responsibility. This is a person we have here! the mind isn’t made to wrap around that truth. Only a soft and stable heart can hold it.
Last night I dreamed I was holding a very new Native American Indian baby named Donald against my chest. He curled against my tummy like a little frog, and tried to suck on my sweater. He had a full shock of blackblack hair. I took him down some stairs and gave him to his mother. She was wearing a beautiful white puffy jacket and a matching white baby carrier.
My pregnancy dreams are like that: taking care of babies and little children. None of these dreams horrible or traumatic or even psychedelic in the way that pregnancy dreams often are. Just tenderness and a bit of joy. This dream-baby was the youngest yet.
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