November 1, 2009

At church today I wrote "Kaethe and Thisbe" in red permanent marker on a sticker and then affixed it to the front of the Moby Wrap. Inside, you slept through communion and the prayers and a sermon on Lazarus. "I have two questions for you today," said the new pastor, "Who are you remembering today? and who are you in this story?"

It was All Saints Day and we were instructed to write down the names of those we remembered on a beige slip inside the bulletin. Your father wrote "Lillian" and I wrote "Grandma Dythe" and "John Steven Paul." On the alter, four white roses and four unlit candles paid homage to four Bethel members who died this year. At 8:30am the congregation was a sea of foam-gray heads.

During the adult education time, your father talked about Luther and vocation. There was a metaphor about concentric circles but he also talked about your poop and how last night at 3am he leaned over your Pack N Play and put his pinkie in your mouth to quiet you. When he mentioned your name, people laughed and shifted in their chairs and smiled conspiratorially at one another. I am not sure they understood about Luther's idea of two kingdoms (the second largest of the concentric circles) but they did understand that your father was a new parent, and I think this made them more sympathetic and eager.

I signed up to pray for an 8th grader named Jayden. I don't know her but now I've seen a picture: blond hair pulled back in a thin white headband, smile spread across a wide, round face.

My throat is sore and exhaustion creeps in and out of my body, a slow thief. You slept seven hours in a row last night again...you've had a run of six or seven hours every night for the last five. This means only one night feeding for me. Sometimes I wake up, startled, thinking that I've falled asleep while nursing and that you are somewhere beside me, suffocating amongst the blankets.

Your daddy and I walk past a retirement community on the way to church. There is a human-made pond surrounded by bark chips colored to look like redwood. Amongst the fake redwood chips are pockets of flowers. A sidewalk meanders by the pond and beside the sidewalk, at various locations, are exercise stations. Each station has a bar or bench and instructions written on a plastic sign that explain how to do a simple exercise using the equipment. These are nice things, these attempts at beauty and community and health, but they make me sad somehow, as though we have forgotten the natural way to do these things and had to re-remember and re-invent them ourselves.