When our first son of the flesh was born and I posted about it to a mailing list, I recall that people took offense that he was called thus. So I wish to explain that it is not an insult to call him thus. It is a way to show that he is mine, but also ours, and to honour the biology that brings him.
So, our second son of the flesh is born. It was a brutal birthing. He was facing such that the largest part of his skull had to pass through the pelvis, and we had no drugs to mitigate the pain. The poor child is bruised the length of his skull and forehead; our bones met a long time. But it makes him no less beautiful and of course he is.
It is strange to not have Li or San to speak with a little on this, if not in prose then in poetry. Sassy has spoken of drama, macaroni as she used to call it. I suppose it might be thus that we would express it. I thought it a mutual pursuit, heart-understood and somewhat magical. It seems she calls it annoyance. I am at turns angry, for have we not supported her in such times, and mourning.
This birthing was a time of remembered pain, but I think we cannot speak on this just now.
It is odd, to be joyful and mourning at once. Just now this son sleeps on my chest as I type, for he was early and has difficulty in keeping mother’s milk in his belly. So he must be held upright a while after each feeding. He is warm and he makes soft sounds from time to time. He is very small and yet his presence is large already.
But to sit with him gives time to think on what has been lost, so there are tears as well.
I understand the annoyance with drama. But I think on the root of drama, the stage; where human truth comes to life a little larger. And while I mourn for us, I mourn also for Sassy and Li and San, if they cannot find the room to permit this also in their lives. I hope it to be with us. But if not, with someone.
I wonder, when they called us soulmates, was it a lie? Is now the lie? Or is it all truth and we will find each other again?
For although there is much pleasure in the small and the ordinary, there is also a fierce fire within that aches to break the bonds of the calm, the routine. It is true perhaps that we had become complacent of it; I would correct that.