Little Miss Sunshine

I have fallen hopelessly in love this face. That's my daughter's face. Just saying that I get choked up with awe and gratitude. She's 10 ounces, which is hard to believe because she's sporting a very fine spine and that gorgeous profile. I can't look at it without spontaneously bursting into prayer of thanksgiving. When I was in Omaha on business, the days were quite long, and somewhere around 10:00 p.m., I realized that I missed seeing a picture of Pepperminta. Jeff was kind enough to email me a copy of her profile so I could see her and quell the longing til I could get back to my hotel and stare at the pictures again.

This gender information is sinking in a little more day by day. The biggest change I can see in myself since we found out about the Pepperminta is that I am suddenly in love with all of the mothers that I see. There is a new space inside of me that is full of reverence and respect for mothers, especially mothers of little girls. And, this morning on the train I had an experience that showed that I, too, am ready to having more mothering in my life. (Is now an appropriate time to mention I will be seeing a new FEMALE therapist tomorrow who has had two children of her own?)

So, I get on the train platform this morning excited to have a few minutes to read the new David Sedaris book before the week takes on a life of its own and I have to limit my reading to legal documents and personal emails. When the train finally comes, I am pretty much frozen solid from the 20 degree windchill that cut through me as I stood on the elevated platform. When I got into a train car, however, it was packed full of people and hot. Really hot. I tried to concentrate on Mr. Sedaris' funny antidotes, and the last thing I remember reading before becoming convinced I was going to faint was something about how he and his partner bonded over a mutual fear of group sex and abandonment. Even that little discussion was not going to keep me conscious during this ride.

I didn't know what to do. I was standing and holding a pole, and I certainly don't look pregnant, so I can't really fault any morning commuters for not examining my pale visage and giving me their seats. I took off my coat. I took off my gloves. I was still spinning and things were getting blurry at the edges. I was four stops away from my desintation-- which, since you asked, was also a therapist's office. You can never have too much therapy-- that's CLEARLY my motto. Anyway, I decided I need to take action if I didn't want to end up on a CTA stretcher headed to the nearest emergency room. I crouched down to a squat and put my head between my legs. And, then, thank goodness, this elderly woman who was dressed head to toe in black schmata, with big reading glasses and salt and pepper hair pulled loosely in a bun, looked up from her Bible reading and asked me if I wanted her seat. Since I was practically laying on the floor of the el train, I decided to take her up on it. I was so grateful that she observed me and offered me her seat. I felt better once I sat down. A few minutes later the guy in the adjacent seat got off the train and the Bible lady sat down next to me. She asked me if I needed medical care. I wanted to say, "you have no idea," but instead said, "I am pregnant and if I get too hot and thirsty this is what happens. I am almost at my stop. Thank you."

She had a thick accent, which I tell myself was Polish. She was reading the second chapter of Leviticus in what looked like an old King James Bible. I got off before she did, but not before thanking her for her kindness and consideration. But for her, I would be on the el floor riding up and down Chicago's northwest side trying to catch my breath.

I tell myself she's a mother. Actually, I have a vivid imagination, so I tell myself she is the mother of 7 children, from back in the day before you could harness medical technology to have a litter of children. I tell myself she used to have to ride the train through Siberia (is that in Poland? Near Poland?) with her children to get some hearty brown bread to make it through the winter. I tell myself her husband died in the war and she never remarried. Instead, she found Jesus and the Bible and rides around helping young women who haven't quite learned to speak up for themselves when they are about to faint on public transportation.

She's amazing. I want to be a woman like that. Lifting up other women, paying attention, offering up my seat where possible. I would rather read David Sedaris than the Bible, but they both have multiple references to sodomy so it's more similar than you would think.

It's this exact experience that makes me feel happy about bringing a baby into this world, this city, this train line. A baby girl no less. I would like to teach her to gravitate towards people who will help her and share the ride with her, making it more comfortable and pleasant along the way.