And remember, knowing, for the first time, that I could

“One night before my first child was born, I lay in bed beside his mother. She was sleeping. It was late november. We live in a rented cottage beside a small lake. The night was dark, the stars were bright. In the half-light I could see her belly moving – hand or feet or head. I didnt know. But I knew what occupied her womb was partly me and would change our lives forever. Looking out into the night, I spied the dominant winter constellation, Orion, and, just to the right, the Pleiades – six of the seven sisters plain to see. To name a few out of the countless star was a confort. The woman sleeping, the baby bulging in her, the bright and blinking firmament alive, alive – I felt myself at ease on the edge of a new life, full of hope and wonder and thanks. I remember regretting that I would ever die. And remember, knowing, for the first time, that I could.” *

Thomas Lynch, “Womb” an essay in ‘Bodies in motion and at rest – on metaphor and mortality”