It’s my baby’s first birthday today!
A year ago at this time I was very discouraged because I’d thought I’d gone into labor during the night only to have it fizzle out. I did have Zeko that day, though, just in the nick of time to make it by the 15th so he could be birthday twinsies with a very special friend (two actually!), because that’s of utmost importance. 😉 (No really, I had to keep up the streak: Elora is birthday twins with the son of a dear friend, Danny is birthday twins with the daughter of another dear friend and Elora is about to share her birthday with her Tatee’s wedding day! We like to cluster dates in this family apparently.)
In honor of today, I wanted to share this wonderful e.e. cummings poem with you. No, no no, not that kind! I came across this one (again?) recently and it describes perfectly, perfectly my feelings when having a newborn. That thread between life and death, that love so overwhelming that I could barely look at my baby without simultaneous elation and panic. The world-shift that occurred in seconds, the indelible, ineffable, incomprehensible birth we underwent in becoming parents…
Tell me, moms and dads, this is it right?
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
by e. e. cummings
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands