We set out from New Orleans, me and my friend, the mother waiting to happen, enroute to pick up a baby who she was possibly adopting. And the journey of course has been bumpy and wild and naturally complicated. It took an obstacle course to get here, we arrived just minutes after the birth, we had to wait to see how things would go, and then today finally it was a day of getting to know this little baby boy and spending time with him – and that has been good.
Here is the flat tire being fixed in Mississippi:
Here is the tire store that let us jump in front of the hour long line in exchange for a king cake to be mailed later:
There is no photo of the smiling Sheriff that pulled us over in Alabama and listened to our story and then let us go. Or images of the pounding rain or traffic in Kentucky and Ohio.
At the end of the day, this little boy, born eight pounds was automatically born with a story about how his mother got in a truck and drove over 800 miles to get him and how another little boy who was waiting for him back home who decided to compose a song welcoming him home has a similar story, with the same truck, the same weather, and the same complications, and the same waiting. The hardest part.
There is no good thing that happens in life which is not fraught with weirdness and fears of what comes next and then suddenly you’re staring at what comes next and you’re in utter disbelief. Is this my life? you keep repeating to yourself as you walk through it like a shadow puppet.
I must say this baby business is exhausting and tomorrow is Monday – and we’re stuck inside the Midwest with the Bayou Blues again. A refrain I know only too well.