I have no idea what to name this blog now. This has kept me from writing, although to be honest, it is more than my inability to name the blog that has kept me from updating. It feels like such a big job to introduce a new life, and I am intimidated by big jobs. Although I did birth you, and believe me, that was a big job.
Joseph, you joined us on October 4th, 2009 at 1:23am. You were born underwater with Margaret and Anjli (the midwives), Susannah (the doula), and your poppa in attendance. Your labor was a breeze but pushing you out I found to be downright uncomfortable. It turns out that pushing 9lbs. 14.5 ounces would make just about anyone uncomfortable. I did start writing your birth story just a few days after you were born and because I have yet to post Marian's birth story, I don't feel so bad about not finishing yours.
I began your sister's blog on the day that her umbilical cord fell off. It felt like such a holy little moment that I couldn't help but sit down and write. Sweet Joseph, your umbilical cord fell off in the bathroom of Jason's Deli as I was changing your diaper after a whirlwind trip to the Center for Puppetry Arts with Marian, Nona, Mata and Aunt Katie. I heard something hit the floor and almost didn't take the time to look down. But there it was, the last little piece of the cord that connected me to you, on the cold tile floor. I picked it up and carried it around in my diaper bag until just yesterday when Marian found it and said, "This is Joseph's?"
Things are different when you're the second child, as I'm sure you'll come to discover in your own time. There is a little less time for the kind of sitting around and staring at each other that induces wonder. You got hauled around to Glenn School, the grocery store, cultural attractions and the park (and that was just in the first four days) and rudely woken up from nearly every nap you managed to catch. I was worried about this at first, thinking that maybe we would not have the chance to bond in the same way that I did with Marian in her first few days on earth.
But then there were those moments in the middle of the night when you would wake me up with your squirming (you're already a much better sleeper than Marian ever was) with a smile spread across your face. You and I would steal away to the living room and curl up on the couch under a mound of blankets and just cuddle. You, nursing yourself to sleep, fit perfectly in the curve of my body and my chin resting on top of your head felt exactly right. The love would wash over me all at once with an intensity that is hard to describe.
Today is Christmas Eve and we are at Nona and Grandaddy's house in Mississippi. The house is gorgeous, there are already a zillion wrapped boxes under the tree and I'm writing this to the sounds of Marian and Nona decorating a gingerbread house. You are being passed from arm to arm, thrilled with the shiny lights, the patterns on pillowcases and fans whirring overhead.
I have been thinking, over the course of the past few weeks, that this would be a good night to write. Technically, you are named after Poppa Joe but I have always been a little partial to your biblical namesake as well. Afterall, some two thousand odd years ago, another Joseph was on quite a journey. The star of the show tonight is, of course, the baby Jesus, with Mary coming in as a strong second. Joseph, we hear, cleared a place in the stable but beyond that, his role is pretty secondary. But I like to imagine him as a man who was so confident in his love for Mary, so sure of his love for this small child, that he could live with the ambiguity and endless questions of the child's birth. Joseph, at least for me, has come to symbolize what it means to be a gentle and loving soul in a world that poses far more questions than it supplies answers.
Joseph, I hope that you will be able to live with ambiguity, that you will find people to love beyond all reason and you will find bringing people out of the cold, making them feel comfortable and safe, is a job worthy of what I am sure will be your immeasurable talents. But on this, your first Christmas Eve, it is your job to be a baby. The rest of us can stare contentedly into your blue eyes and remember the promise represented by the birth of a babe born in a manger. Peace on earth. You make it seem possible.
