thanksgiving

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(...)

Our son was born four months ago, born squawking lustily despite a small amount of drama. I could say that I've been speechless with gratitude, or exhaustion, or joy, and they'd all be right but also wrong. I've simply been speechless and I'm not sure why. But here I am.

I once said that infertility was like being on the outside of a locked door, a door that opens for other people but not for you. And that nothing that anyone says to you can ever change the fact that you are on the wrong side of that door, and have no idea if you'll ever be able to pass through. I once said that I'd keep patiently trying to pick the lock until I got through, someday, someday, somehow, but more than once I suspected that I'd never have anything to show for it but bloodied fingers.

Here, on the other side, I press my hand to the door and say thank you. I know I got here through luck, not skill, and I will try to pay for it by being thankful.

Our boy is bright and beautiful. There have been some struggles (a.k.a. My Long Lactational Nightmare) but he is growing strong, and this marvelous boy has taken two callow flibbertigibberts and somehow made mothers out of us.

Birth story and more later; at my current breakneck rate of posting, expect something before the next Presidential election.

Deepest thanks to all who have followed along and given me your presence and encouragement throughout this journey. It's meant a tremendous amount to me.

Now back to bed, where my wife and my own wee lad await.