I see you over there. Across the aisle. In the next checkout.
Staring. At my kid.
Because I am my kid. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.
I bore him for nine months. And birthed him after 23 hours of labor.
And now I am birthing him again. 12 years of birthing.
Teaching him to talk. To hear. To write. To read.
And he is still being born.
The essence of him was always there. Just like you know your baby in the womb.
Stubborn, persistent, cuddly, inquisitive.
But stuck behind a wall of not-words. Behind a need of motion.
Motion that makes his body real to him. Motion and sounds that are so weird to other people. That are his way of being alive. Of being born.
That's what you are staring at.
You are watching his birth.
It can be painful. But it's always miraculous.
I think he is crowning now.