A funny story, I think it is needed after the vitriol of the last, yes?
There I was, my newborn son in my arms, my face exploding with pride beyond anything I had felt, well at least since the last one was born, and in the waiting room were my mother-in-law and my dearest Bethany. I was full of sweet endorphins and, to be fair, utterly emotionally and physically exhausted from the last few hours with the baby and the last few days of having Preach-It-Jesus-Freak as close to my life and I as was humanly possible without being a motherfucking suppository.
As I was saying, I was standing with my glorious son in my arms, well my hand really, and I completely bypassed the She-Harpy (Yes I know all harpies are biologically female, it rolls off the tongue, okay?) and I gave my precious creation to Bethany first instead of my mother-in-law. As much as I love telling the story in the “Bethany was closest to me” tradition, the truth was I bloody well did it on purpose because Bethany had been there for Naomi and I a thousandfold more than her parents had been, one of whom couldn’t be bothered in making the trip down to see the birth of his newest grandson.
Whereas there was such hardship that came both later that hour and in the days, weeks and yes, years to come, that innocent moment of a human being touching another human being for the very first time. Looking down onto that face with it’s closed eyes and seeing nothing but love and joy, that is what a birth is, that is what Creation is.
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