I have felt the first swell of my heart, of what it’s like to have more than one child’s well- being on your mind. And it really is as they say, that your heart just grows to accommodate the new one; a limitless mass of love lodged in your chest, capable of infinite amounts of devotion, wonder, anxiety, pride and the countless other emotions associated with motherhood.
Bek is home from school today. He is suffering from late summer allergies, which as usual has triggered a chronic asthma wheeze and cough. I was up all night doing every other hour breathing treatments with the nebulizer. It is the first hint I’ve had at having two, of them both in my heart and mind, worried about them both at the same time; and seamlessly and transparently my brain began to switch gears, without my really noticing. It’s fascinating really.
The new one, who is still She Who Cannot Be Named, has begun to take shape in my heart. She grows there each day. In a dream the other night, I was suspended in shimmering grey liquid, and she was there with me, or rather I was there with her as I imagine this was her turf. She was nuzzled next to me, curled into a tiny fetal position, barely mammalian (and strangely slightly amphibious?), with a translucent nub of a thumb stuck into her heart shaped mouth. We bobbed and floated together in slow motion, the fish tank bubbling and oceanic uterine swooshes the only sounds around us. She was afraid; and I told her it’s ok, it might be a little bit scary and sad, but only for a little bit. We’d get there as soon as we could. It’s ok, it’ll be ok, I told her. Through some sort of telepathic communication she told me she understood and was comforted. From that point on, we simply floated together, in what was the most peaceful, happy, quiet, watery void I’ve ever experienced.
Lety, my friend who I work with, told me in her thick Spanish accent, that maybe this meant she was born, or about to be. The timing would be about right. Perhaps it just signifies the birth of her in my heart.
Not flesh of my flesh,
Nor bone of my bone,
but still miraculously my own.
Never forget for a single minute;
You didn't grow under my heart
but in it.
- Fleur Conkling Heylinger