For A Wanted Child
Oh, God, thank you for the child I carry.
I am in love with it as I am in love with my husband and my life – and you.
I walk the world in wonder. I see it through new eyes.
All is changed, subtly but singly different. The beauty of sunlight upon the grass, the feel of its warmth along my arms. It is cradling me in tenderness as I shall cradle this child one day.
I am mother and child in one, new as a child myself, innocent, excited, amused, surprised.
I marvel at my changing body. It is as sweet and new to me as when I was a little girl. Even its symptoms are less of misery or fatigue than signals of its secret. “See how important I am,” my body claims. “Feel my insistence as I make and shape this child for you.”
God, I am happy. God, I am sad. God, I am vital – alive, alive. Life has me in its hands. Life is moving me in an immutable direction that I don’t want to resist and couldn't if I tried.
It is almost comical, this sweet and stern insistence. It is like night and day and the changing of seasons. “Stop, stop!” I might as well cry to the winds or the sea.
No, no, I am for it now, and I rejoice, though I am also a little bit afraid. The labor, the delivery, the care. But it is an exciting kind of anxiety. It is the part of the privilege of being female.
Oh, God, bless this body in which the mystery of life is working. Let it be equal to its job.
And bless the tiny marvel it is responsible for. Your handiwork! Oh, bless my baby too – let it be whole and beautiful and strong.