Baby days and daydreams

Today a young man at work became a father. He and I had a chance to talk yesterday and I gave him the same advice I give to all expectant fathers – which I only share with expectant fathers.

Afterwards, when I heard they had their baby today, their first, I thought about them and wondered if they had good support, if his or her parents were coming, etc.

I thought back to when our first son was born, more than a decade ago.

We were living in Oregon at the time, just the two of us. We had support in the first few weeks, my parents flying in from New York for a bit. They arrived a few days after we came home from the hospital.

As I thought of that young girl delivering today, I thought of my own young wife eleven years ago, giving birth in a foreign country, her own mother half a world away. A gentle girl in a rugged western state, and joined only by a young and foolish man she wed just scarcely two years prior.

What courage. She was so strong. But she must I have been terrified. I would have been. Hell, I was.

But she was so brave.

The more I think back today, the more I’m filled with awe, with such respect, and with such renewed gratitude for her.

I’m filled with respect for women everywhere, giving birth in strange places, holding it together with strange people all around, and enduring such pain that some welcome the alternative – a huge needle stabbed into their spine.

I heard from the young guy tonight. He texted me a picture. Cute baby. They all are. He reports that both sets of grandparents are enroute, and everyone is doing well.

But we all are really.

As the great Bengali sage and Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore reminds us, “every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man.”

Don’t lose faith, friends.

There are still little miracles every day.


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