You do not know the true origin of your children
You call them yours
but they belong to a greater Mystery
You do not know the name of this Mystery
but it is the true Mother and Father of your children.
It is 11am on Thanksgiving day and my daughter is sleeping soundly in her bed. She is wearing snowflake pajamas that make her look like a michievious little elf, escaped from Santa's lab, when she moves her body around. And she's been moving her body like a wildfire. Rolling, rolling, up on all fours, hopping forward trying to crawl. Her efforts are noble and purposeful. Each motion she makes seems to be strengthening her little body for her next developmental milestone. It's unbelievable to witness. She woke at 7:30 this morning and got right to business. Moving on the bed. Moving on the floor. Moving in her little exersaucer. and then, exhausted, she cried out what sounded like, "save me from myself". i took her to the darkened bedroom and nursed her to sleep. and now she's still there, in her dreamland of milk and goodness.
Her eyes are closed and yet underneath those silky lids they're on fire. She's full of curiousity and wonderment. And she's mysterious. Her sly little grin takes me aback, makes me wonder what she knows of that I know nothing of. I presume there's a lot. I look forward to sharing with her.
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