My son joined the world six weeks ago...He was folded into our universe from some other one, without any serious complications. He took longer then normal to expel the poison of his journey, but his color is now normal.
My two year old daughter has allowed him into her domain with the grace and love of a doting queen. I was surprised to see her so quickly move from denial to acceptance to love...And to see the instinctive care of a woman, even at such a young age. Some of it is modeling, to be sure, but the speed with which she runs to him when he is distressed, the tone of her voice when she tries to soothe him, and her gentle caress, are more than simple mimicry.
There have been times since the birth where I find myself sitting on the couch, holding my new son to my chest, with my daughter snuggled up next to me, watching Finding Nemo or Elmo's Adventure in Grouchland, that I realize just how perfect the world can be in fleeting moments of peace and love.
I wish those moments could hang in space and time forever. I wish they filled the air like sunshine-loaded mist in the early morning glow of a coastal California paradise.
I wish a wish could make a difference.
But I know that along with the perfect love and joy of life will inevitably come it's opposite hate, pain and despair...And yet this stark reality is what makes it possible for me to cherish the beautiful things in life in the first place -- the cycles of life are marked not by the passing of time, but by our tears of loss and sorrow, and our hope for a return to the other side of ourselves.
To my son: welcome to our lives -- and thank you for your love.
