Sometimes, Just for a Minute

The answer to whether or not I wish I were pregnant. Our baby is going to be three in a few months. We have a diaper-free existence. I am able to discuss books and films with my kids, ethics, faith. I can go rock-climbing with them. We can all go for a pedaling bike ride down the street. I can use the sleek, two-tiered shopping cart rather than the plastic faux-truck monstrosity. Everyone can get their own pre-dawn bowl of cereal. We have all worked very hard to get to this point. Most days, I am full steam ahead-ready for chapter-books and the gritty challenges of individuation. And for goodness sake, I have had four babies. I have had my universal quota of babies.

But then you have days like Sunday. If a Baptism service at St. Vincent's doesn't convert you, then it will at least soften your heart. And if it doesn't soften your heart, then it will at least make you stop birth-control. This baby they baptized was so lovely. The traditional, all nude little baby. The milky little mouth, the chubby fists, the innocent gaze. The robed priest, the beaming parents. The sung Litany of Saints. Anyway, it was what Anne Lamott would call "a religious bus station"-- reliefs of Biblical scenes, the carved Stations of the Cross, saints in stained glass, and on top of that, the singing! And then the procession-- the baby's dad leads the procession around the church, presenting the newly-baptized baby. We all sing, people cheer and whistle. There isn't a dry eye in the place. I felt this distinct pang of regret at being done. I longed for a baby at that moment.

But then yesterday, I got all my perspective back. I went to my Step class at the Y. When I saw the pregnant woman come in, I got her a step and a few risers. I looked at her and selfishly, I thought, "Gosh, is that what I looked like?" The swollen, darkened lips, the widened nose, oh God, the waddle! She was next to me, so I watched her. My heart went out to her--scenes of her losing her balance, wanting to ask them to slow down the tempo for this poor woman who was struggling to keep up. It actually became incredibly distracting to watch her. And you know me, I love pregnancy and I would admit to being a birth junkie all the way! But I saw this woman, in her second trimester and all of its implications, and I felt very clearly content.

This is weird but the best part, the part that snapped me back into my reality was when the first few notes of "Good Vibrations" by Marky Mark came on. I was able to detach from my wistful trance and totally be in my own body. My own body, not a vessel for anyone, just me.