Jack is the cinnamon on my latte, the blueberries in my pancakes. He's the special feature on a DVD, and a CD's hidden track. He's the tiny seedling taking a chance at life on Mount Saint Helens' barren ridge. He's the plastic baby in the Mardi Gras king cake, and the bay leaf in the picana.I love this kid.
The story of his birth I'll save for another post. I'm basing my whole thesis on our experience, which was quick and beautiful. Six hours, start to finish. There was barely time to get to The Farm for the final stage of labor, but the waking dawn sky and the spring morning chill were worth that 90-minute ride. I couldn't imagine his birth any other way.
Right now, he's plucking my arm like an upright bass, one little hand stretched in front of my arm, the other behind. He's a musical genius.
Today is MLK day, and tomorrow is Obama's inauguration. I have so much hope for my son's future at this moment that I may implode.
Peace.
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