I've been watching the clock all day. Three months ago I lay in a hospital bed, giddy with an epidural, grateful for heartbeats, and that a doctor I liked was still on call. Three months ago Levi was still Charles Lamb. I was large as a barge. We didn't know his laugh. We didn't know his voice. We didn't know who he was--but we knew he moved and lived and we loved him. Three months ago we weren't quite parents. And today we're still figuring it out.
Eight years ago as a freshman in high school I watched the World Trade Center collapse on repeat. I saw planes crash. I saw people scream. I felt the smoke covering our nation; more I felt the hazy confusion of mortality. What tragedies--personal, local, national, global--await my little boy? What memories will scar into his body, will he remember the shirt he wore when some event occurs? What sacrifices will he make.
Three months into our miracle, and more questions present themselves. I watch while he sleeps. Today he laughed so hard in sleep that he woke up. Sometimes he wakes up wailing. What does he dream? Can he remember his past? Or does he simply reflect the future filled with its sorrows and joys?
What a lovely thought... that his responses in sleep might reflect the future. :)
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