procreation, magic.

I’ve been keeping a secret for a few weeks, and not very well. I’m good at keeping other people’s secrets but not my own, and I’ve already told many people close to me. This morning Mark and I went to our first ultrasound, and both soon-to-be grandmothers were there, too. We got our first peek at our baby, or as Mark called it, “baby’s first photo shoot.”

I’m reminded of this poem I read long long ago in school:

babys first photo

by Sylvia Plath

I’m a riddle in nine syllables.
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf’s big with its yeasty rising.
Money’s new-minted in this fat purse.
I’m a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I’ve eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there’s no getting off.

I’ve been thinking about mothers, the magic of carrying a baby. I’ve been thinking that not only will I carry and birth a child, but I’ll also have a baby to feed and cuddle and wash, and that baby will grow into a toddler, and that toddler will grow into a kid, and that kid into an adult. It’s kind of overwhelming, and pretty freaking cool.

So the string of humanity continues on, and I am a vessel, for now a slim vessel but before long I’ll be a melon strolling on tendrils. Mark and I are excited to bring a new soul to this beautiful world.

Love and light.


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