A Baby with No Name...

This weekend my husband got a call from a friend who used to be the bass player in his band, The Voodoo Horseshoes.  Though they no longer play in the band together, they still appreciate each other musically and spend regular time jamming together.  My husband is musically gifted and can play just about anything he wishes to play. . .drums being his hallmark instrument.  In any case, the call was about a local bonfire party.  When Ty asked me if I'd like to go, I said yes, and so....we went.

It has been an unusually warm fall, which is nice because we have been spending a lot of time walking and talking and talking and walking....in the day, in the night...just...whenever we can!  So, in the theme of a beautiful fall, the night was glittering with an abundance of starlight.  We pulled up in our car and walked around with Ferdinand for a bit before entering the scene.  It's become sort of a tradition really...talking and walking...assessing feelings before entering any social environment...touching base with where we are in the moment as a couple...as people.

Once the ground felt firm under our feet, we walked over to the warmth of the fire.  Free-spirited people were smiling and drumming in a circle.  Women and some children swayed near the fire.  An older woman held a rainbow colored pipe in her mouth, blowing smoke rings into the fire.  Ty brought out his guitar and seamlessly entered the melody bringing the mellow groove into an energy that follows my guy everywhere. It was powerful.  So, even though I do not carry a musical bone in my body, I pulled out his mini drum and tried to keep some semblance of a beat.  My efforts were in vain, but, it didn't matter.  I wasn't on stage; I was just one of the many enjoying the music.  Participating in the rhythm...even if I have none.

Sparks were flying in the air, and a curly haired woman offered me a huckleberry seltzer.  It had whole huckleberries floating in it.  It was fresh and inviting and I chastised myself for missing out on the gathering of huckleberries this year.  I had wanted to....but, I just couldn't DO it.  I know we will miss those berries this winter.  Maybe next year I will be ME enough to get out there and gather berries.  As I drummed lightly, and sipped my drink I noticed that right beside me was a lovely young mother holding a tiny baby.  TINY.  He smelled like the newness of life.

I gathered the courage to speak to her.  I knew I might cry...but I couldn't stand to pretend that I wasn't dying to touch his tiny nose with my own.

The young mother told me he was nine days old...and when I asked his name, she smiled softly and said "He hasn't shared his name with us yet....He doesn't have a name."  My heart swelled as I looked at the little nameless baby.  His mother and I talked about baby's, breastfeeding, birth....and I told her I had five living sons.  I told her about our loss.  We talked about stillbirth and about my journey through it all as the music pulsed around us.

The hours went by and then, she turned to me and smiled.."Would you mind holding him while I go pee and get something to eat?"  I looked at her smiling...and nodded.

He felt warm and toasty from the firelight and his mama.  His little eyes fluttered open and he SMILED at me...or whatever it is baby's smile at when they are so very new.  Then, he nestled in my arms up against my breast and cooed into a sweet slumber.  We sat like that for about 20 minutes.  I gazed at him intently feeling the energy of this little man with no name.  He could be anyone.  He could have been any baby.  No name to define his inner being.  Still free.

For a moment, I thought about the fact that I am not pregnant in spite of a very exuberant and constant attempt to change that.   Who else do I know...or does ANYONE know who has sex at least 14 times a week?  Or more?  I used to be so fertile that it wasn't as much as issue of how, but instead was always just when.  As I am now in the 6th month of being "open"....I still have a vacancy sign in the window of my heart...with no takers.

I am the teenage girl who finds herself pregnant after only one encounter; her first and only encounter at that.   

 I am the mother of five living sons and the woman that had 3 miscarriages in between.  I am the .1% of women who will become pregnant with an IUD...with twins.  And the mother who lost those twins.

The point is...I used to get pregnant easily.  Yes...I've had as many losses as gains, but pregnancy was never an issue.

Until now.

So, as I held that little nameless baby I was surprised that I didn't need to cry.  I am not pregnant.  I may never be pregnant again.  And worse...I may become pregnant at some point only to lose that pregnancy.

I may be too old.

It may be too late.

But I held that little boy....and gently rocked to the music of the drum circle where my husband was now jamming on the drums like there was no tomorrow to the delight of the bonfire companions we were enjoying.

Holding a baby with no name allowed me to feel the energy of baby-ness.  It gave me permission to ask the universe who he was.  The answer kept coming "He is Peace...Peace....Peace."

His mother came back and smiled at me.  I gave her baby back to the warmth of her arms and went back to my lame attempts at drumming.  Awed that there was no urge to sob in having to give that precious being to another woman.  His mother. 

I closed my eyes and felt the pulse of my husbands rhythm in the air all around me melding with the rhythm and song and dance of a group of new sisters and brothers in love with the stars and fire in the clean air of a perfect autumn night.  A baby with no name nestled in my heart.  Peace flowed through my veins.  I found my heart beat and began to feel it in my fingers.  Suddenly....I was softly drumming.  And it was on the beat.  For the first time in my life, I had a rhythm that wasn't painful to the ears or soul.  I was really....drumming.  To the beat of life.  My life.  When I opened my eyes, I saw Ty smiling with surprise and joy in his eyes...I was DRUMMING! 

My womb may remain empty.  The baby in my heart may never have a name.  My sexy, virile husband and I may make love more than anyone in the world without sperm and egg creating someone new ever again. But even if all of that is true for the rest of my life, I feel that something was born in spite of it all.  It's name is peace---- And it lives in me.