What Universe Looks Like

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Abstract

e-whoo hee-hee-whooI go back and forth from the contraction to the reruns of Friends playing in the waiting room. A child is going to rearrange your friends, a father of two told us, at a couple’s night out, when we told him we are expecting, every car a death machine, every window a death trap, the world is a threatening place when you carry a fragile being.Isn’t there any bright side? I ask as I sip some wine for my wife. Well, you get new eyes, see the world as if for the first time with your child, discover the origa

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mi folds of roses, delight in the puppet clouds and their theatrics on the blue stage, and you can dance silly and no one will think you silly.Finally, on the 24th hour, my son comes, all glutinous, bloody and alive, and the nurse washes off the waters of birth, then swaddled, gently lays this new creation on the bend of my wife’s arm, and she guides his hungering lips onto her bosom welling with honey milk. We have forgotten the 24 hours of waiting as our son shows us what breath looks like in his small body filling with the universe.</article></body>

The revealing of my first son

Suyun, my wife, holding our first son, Ian.

My wife has been in labor for 20 hours but the boy’s not ready for his revealing.

What’s he waiting for?

She refuses epidural and demerol; going to go the old fashioned way, hicks breathing. How can counting counter pain?

hee-hee-whoo hee-hee-whoo

I go back and forth from the contraction to the reruns of Friends playing in the waiting room. A child is going to rearrange your friends, a father of two told us, at a couple’s night out, when we told him we are expecting, every car a death machine, every window a death trap, the world is a threatening place when you carry a fragile being.

Isn’t there any bright side? I ask as I sip some wine for my wife. Well, you get new eyes, see the world as if for the first time with your child, discover the origami folds of roses, delight in the puppet clouds and their theatrics on the blue stage, and you can dance silly and no one will think you silly.

Finally, on the 24th hour, my son comes, all glutinous, bloody and alive, and the nurse washes off the waters of birth, then swaddled, gently lays this new creation on the bend of my wife’s arm, and she guides his hungering lips onto her bosom welling with honey milk. We have forgotten the 24 hours of waiting as our son shows us what breath looks like in his small body filling with the universe.