2 weeks left. That is it. And then life will be not as we know it nor can we even imagine. Or so I’ve been told.
I’ve been looking for song lyrics. Let’s start with something new, Sturgill Simpson
Hello, my son
Welcome to earth
May not be my last
But you’ll always be my first
Our future baby, currently named Gummy after an ultrasound tech’s description of his size a week 12, will soon be coming down to the earth. Of all the advice I’ve been given, the only I believe is that our life will change.
Little sleepy boy
Do you know what time it is?
Well the hour of your bedtime’s
Long been past
And though I know you’re fighting it
I can tell when you rub your eyes
You’re fading fast
Paul Simon’s St. Judy’s Comet is a tune my mother turned me on to. We all have such hope for the future. Our little boy, so full of excitement for the world that sleep is chore. A time when sleep is one less moment to experience life! And on that them of excitement and hope…
I hear babies crying, I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more than I’ll never know
And I think to myself what a wonderful world
Louis Armstrong. Enough said, but I will say more. One of my favorite lyrics of all time. Progress in the world. Martin’s long arch of the moral universe. Perhaps only seconded by friends shaking hands, wordlessly expressing their mutual love. Oh, what a world to be born into!
I can honestly say that I am not at the “I hope you dance” phase of our relationship–though I hope he does! Nor am I at the “Cat’s in the Cradle” time of the teen years. I am rather standing at the end of the Book of Mark. “Go out into the world…” What beauty in an ellipsis! Pregnant as his mother, full of possibility.
But as for a parting I wish, I am left with nought but old Walt.
This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown, or to any man or number of men—go freely with powerful uneducated persons, and with the young, and with the mothers of families—re-examine all you have been told in school or church or in any book, and dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem, and have the richest fluency, not only in its words, but in the silent lines of its lips and face, and between the lashes of your eyes, and in every motion and joint of your body.