"Let's see how many centimeters..." the doctor says, clicking and scrolling the mouse on the screen where you are floating like an astronaut in space.
Eight months from now: "How many centimeters?" will be a whole different discussion when you are getting ready to enter the world.
But right now, as much as we're intrigued by the numbers -- centimeters and heartbeat -- I'm just fascinated by YOU there, like a knot in the wood, like a space in the universe that is opening up for us to view into something BEYOND you. And when you're born, (just try and imagine THAT!) that space will close and we'll all probably go on about our lives forgetting that place you came FROM. But for right now, I love seeing your there, on your way over here.
I want to shout out words of encouragement as if calling out to some long distance swimmer who has yet to make it to the shallow waters here. (You're still a long way out and I'm the one who seems to be holding my breath!)
Rather than shout (which seems downright rude and a little hysterical at the moment), perhaps I'll read to you. It's from the poem "Genie" by Arthur Rimbaud -- and is actually the poem your mother and I chose for this blog. (Sometimes "coincidence" simply means you're not looking hard enough for the connections.... Other times, you'll see that Mr. Freud was right (more on him MUCH later): "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.")
But reading this from Rimbaud's "Illuminations" reminds me of you, though you're so new there's no re- to that mind. You're just in my mind now.
He is love, perfect measure reinvented, marvelous and unlooked-for reason, and eternity.
(Or she. We don't know, do we?)
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