Babies
I had two hours to myself today. Hours which should have been spent ironing. But that’s neither here nor there. I watched “Juno” which my bfriend referred to as ‘the abortion movie.’ When I commented that I’m pretty sure that she is pregnant in the movie he changed it to ‘the teen pregnanacy movie.’ So, I knew I was watching it myself.
It was good. But at the end I found myself crying, which I really don’t do, especially in the middle of the day when I’m about to go to the theatre. But I couldn’t get around the fact that I was sad. Sad for Juno. Sad for Jennifer what’s her name’s character. Sad for myself.
Pregnancy was just the number one, most ridiculous, most fun, most freakin’ awesome experience ever. The birthing thing wasn’t so great, but even that wasn’t so bad. The resulting baby was stunning. Like Allison Janey says to Jennifer what’s her face at the end when Jen asks how she looks holding her newly adopted baby “like all new mothers - scared shitless.” Exactly. But it is the most stunningly instinctive miraculous deal of life.
And I miss it. I want to do it again. And my bfriend doesn’t. So then I just watch movies and cry and realize that I’m maybe two years away from just being too old. And realize that I’m making a conscious decision to pick my bfriend over my desire to bloat with our baby in my belly.
That’s where I am today. Spilling more tears over that baby who won’t ever be. But I’m also celebrating that exquisite seven year old boy who inhabits my heart and soul and home and my everything. I focus on thankfulness. I focus on blessing. His healthy glow pushes those tears and that lament back to the back of my heart. And I thank our God in heaven that that seven year old is mine and I am his.
