Making Sense Of Things

Still no Sprouting, although there were definitely things that I would like to call contractions despite their best efforts to disguise themselves as cramps. They were longer and more persistent that cramps usually are, so I am applying wishful/magical thinking to them...don't try to stop me!

Around three-o'clock, I had a conversation with her as I lay on my side feeling like an overturned sea-lioness who's eaten too many herring (or whatever they eat - what, you think I was paying attention to that National Geographic special??).

It went something like this:

Come out, come out, my little Sprout, come out and see the world. Come out and take your place in the circle!

Nope.

Why not??

Is safe and warm in here.

Well...yeah...but it's tight and crowded, too, and while I cannot promise that you'll always be safe and warm out here, I can tell you...this world...it is marvelous in its complexity, a wonder to experience, and beyond a person's ability to imagine.

What's so great about it?

Hmm...what about the senses?

What about 'em? I got 'em in here.

No...you don't...not really.

Do.

No, my little Sprout who won't come out, you do not. You have something like senses...but to truly know what they are you have to be out here in the world.

'Splain.

Take sight. What you experience in there as sight isn't anything like what seeing should be. You don't have your eyes open...you see light and shadow, but color? No...and little one, you will love color. Red, black, and white first - those will pop out at you, so big and bold you'll almost feel them. Then blue, for Mama, and green, for Papa. Then purples and oranges and yellows...and then...oh, then, little one, all of the shades and variants will resolve themselves as your eyes develop, and your world will live and move in ways you can't know in there!

Huh.

And there's smell.

Smell?

Mmm, smell. You can't smell in there, which may be a good thing - I can't imagine that nine months of the same fluid circulating around smells very nice. But out here? That little bump of a nose on your face will tell you things about your world!

Like what?

Hmm...like Mama took a shower and put on lotion. Or that Papa has been out in the sun. You'll smell bacon cooking, and potatoes and onions frying, and cinnamon rolls and fresh bread baking. There's the scent of a steak frying and of rain on the earth, and wood smoke, and apple blossoms and Autumn loam. The scent of the sea and the sand, of orange peel. There's the musk of death, and skunk, and the pungency of corned beef and cabbage. Even before you recognize my face, you'll know my smell, know when I have come into the room. Papa, too.

Well...

There's taste, too.

Oh?

Oh, yes. At first, you won't taste much - your body and brain have to learn and sort things out...but then...then there will be bananas. And grapes. And spinach. Squash and apples and peas. Potatoes and rice and oatmeal. Cinnamon, and toast with butter and honey. Peanut butter, maple syrup, pancakes, milk. Water, little one...water is a sacrament, a blessing, and a delight on the tongue. There's cheese, and ice cream, and strawberries. Lobster. Fresh corn with butter and salt. Just you wait, little girl, until you can have coconut chicken soup and Rama chicken at the Thai place...or a Frosted Orange at the varsity...or Japanese Bagel at the sushi joint...

...

How 'bout sound.

Got sound.

Nope, not like we do out here. You have distortion because of fluid and tissue between you and the noise. The drum of my heart is most prevalent now, but out here? We have wind in the trees. Rain on the roof. Song birds and hawks. The kitties meowing and purring. Laughter. Papa's voice, soothing and low. Mama's voice, singing soft and sweet. Drums and flutes. Guitars and rattles. Sounds of night, sounds of day.

Hmm...

And I've saved the best for last.

Best?

Touch.

Touch?

Touch. Oh, little one...wait until you feel Papa's touch. And Mama's. There is nothing like feeling the hands of someone who loves you, holding you close. You haven't felt the wind on your face, or water running over your skin. You haven't felt Papa sun on your face, nor Mama Earth beneath your feet. You don't know what it's like to have the grass tickle your toes, or a kitty rub against you. Clean cotton. Sand. Snake skin. Leather. Papa's beard. Mama's hair. Little Big Brother's* gentle hand, patting you.

There's so much for you to see and do and be. Come out, come out, my little Sprout...

I'll think about it.

Well...don't think too long...because you're comin' out by Tuesday, ready or not...and I'd really rather it be on our terms and not the doctors'. C'mon, you're one of us...don't give 'em the satisfaction!



*She has two brothers - The Evil Genius (Little Big Brother) and Someone's first son (23 years old, Big Big Brother)