Remembering Birth

Every mother remembers her child’s birthday. But my son’s is a kind of birth day for me as well. Full-term and healthy, just born in his own time and place.

I wake early, eat breakfast, and talk to my mother before she goes on with her day. She says something along the lines of, “You look like you’re about to pop.” I respond, “Well, the baby will come soon.” She asks, “Today?” I say, “No, I don’t think so.”

I feel great. Later, I lie down to rest. On a trip to the bathroom, our golden retriever wines and starts following me. At the time I don’t understand why; I think she’s sad because the rest of the family isn’t home. But she knows more than I do.

March does indeed come in like a lion. It’s very cold and windy. I decide to take a warm bath. And I’m only in the tub a few minutes when the pressure begins. I won’t say it hurts. I believe it’s too fast, too shocking to hurt. Simply put, my baby wants to come into this world, and there’s nothing I can do about it. So I don’t, just let the miracle of nature take its course, with the dog, bless her heart, outside the bathroom door. On that day my son is born, and some new spirit is born in me.

baby born unplanned
riding on the wind and cold
child of the Lamb


Haibun for the “memorial” prompt at
dVerse.

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