Babies

Yesterday, Cinco de Mayo, my older sister gave birth to her first baby. Or, the baby arrived. He entered the world. Or, after hours of labor, medicine, difficult dilation, and eventual C-section, a miracle of 6 pounds 5 ounces and 18 inches long graced us. I never know how to say "the baby was born" without the passive drag--babies, despite seeming abundant in some areas, are a rarity! Astounding! They deserve more than routine nods! Yes, birth happens every day but doesn't that make it even more amazing?

I'm sick and so I went to the hospital, peered through the nursery window at the little body and thought, "Do I really have another person, someone as real as that, inside of me?" Little Charles won't accept my silliness; he kicked and wiggled as if to say, "Duh, Mom."

My sisters are natural and beautiful mothers. (This little boy is my fourth nephew.) Pictures of them glow, images people would frame and wonder at (not just in a gynocologist's office). I look at them in awe, and then I almost fall over looking at my mom and Wesley's mom. Motherhood--another miracle I'm not sure I can grapple with quite yet. For some people it seems like this inner quality that they're born with: I'm not sure I have it. I'd like to. I'll love my children, but Motherhood...it seems so capitalized and unattainable for one so fallible and too often misdirected.

I habor no glorious expectations for myself--I just hope my son takes after his dad. My birth plan: while Wesley is in Michigan, my water will break and I'll try not to be mad and to relax somehow on my own. I'll wait as long as possible before going to the hospital, dilate (maybe) slowly, push for a few days, then have a C-section. Then, if he's breathing and his heart works, he'll grow up wanting to be an artist and not be able to support his family and we'll support him because we love him and what else can we do? I'm teasing--my real birth plan is to do whatever is necessary to get this little person safely here--I don't care if that involves cutting, pushing, heaving, bleeding, or anything else. I just want him safe. If I make any requests on my labor, it is only that Charles does not come while Wesley is at his combustion conference.

Granted, most of my thoughts revolve around my baby, my sisters' babies, this strange thing (motherhood/Motherhood) linking us together, and part of me believes I can do it, maybe.