Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Dear Baby

Last night there was a kind of Christmas miracle.  You have to forgive your old Mom here, because we both know that science is not my strong suit, but it was the first time in 450 plus years that the Winter Solstice has been on the same day as a Lunar eclipse.  I, of course, found out about it on facebook and some quick googling proved how rare this phenomenon was.  I immediately told your Dad - we have to see it!  We have to set our alarms, wake up and see it!  Crazy pregnancy hormones aside, he is used to these kinds of bizarre requests so he nodded that sure, we could get up and see it.

There was some rhetoric on the interwebs not only about the rarity of this event, but about the sacred meaning of the solstice combining with the energy of a lunar eclipse.  You know that I am even less of a religious scholar than a scientist, so I didn't understand a lot of what was said except that the combination of these two events would be a time of reflection and personal transformation.  As my body even now starts to swell in preparation for your growth, this seemed to me to be appropriate, and I suddenly couldn't wait to stand with you in the moonlight.

When the alarm rang at 2:30am, it was not quite as romantic as I'd hoped.  We stumbled out of bed and tried to find some sweatshirts in the dark.  We woke up our entire zoo of furry animals and they began to stretch and weave under our feet.  We tripped and swore.  We made it down the stairs and out the back door.  At first, I couldn't even find the moon.  And, man, it was COLD!  We stood on the deck and gazed at the moon.  It really was beautiful - all red and spooky-looking.  I waited to feel something magical.  I hugged your Dad and asked him if he was saying a little prayer.  He nodded, either because he was, or because he was already falling back to sleep.  I tried to think of the perfect thing to say.  I mumbled something about you being healthy, about us being happy.  I tried to feel blessed but all I felt was cold.  It was time to go back to bed.

We got back upstairs and Compass had found our abandoned bed.  We couldn't bear to kick him out so we curled up around him, snug and warm.  I laid on my back and put my hand on my belly and wondered if we had been blessed by the light, if it would bring us luck.  I thought of what I wanted for you, if we would miss it because I hadn't been able to articulate my hopes and dreams in those few moments under the moon.  It came to me then, simply: I hope you are extraordinary.  That was it.  That was all.  I thought for a moment about trudging back downstairs, back outside, back under the light to clarify what I was asking, what I was hoping for.  But I knew the moon was still shining on us, and that we would always be like this - we will show you amazing things.  We will stand with  you under the moonlight.  We will do our best to make sure you are blessed.  We won't always know what to say, but we will always, always love you.  And as long as we are there, together, that will be enough.


No comments:

Post a Comment