Chief Bringer of Joy

I can't believe it. I have a ten day old baby boy. Torin Colter Rhys. He's been on the outside for so little time, and yet every day as the sun sets I feel sad that another precious day has passed. He will only grow up and further away from me from here on. As my friend Jen, who is the mother of a nine month old said, "About twenty minutes after he was born I had the awful realization that he would grow up and get married someday,.... and it wouldn't be to me! And some other woman would be the most important person in his life." Of course she doesn't really want her son to not grow up and get married, and I would be heartbroken for Torin not to grow up and away from me. But he's just so precious and tiny now. And he's so attached to me, we're still so close. I am in an altered state these days, brought to me by my boy.

Torin is a Celtic word meaning chief. Colter is the name for the metal disc that goes before the plow. We chose it because of a beautiful line in a Philip Larkin poem, referring to the, "colter of joy." So we named our baby the chief enabler of joy. And he is, and it is such a piercing, fierce joy.

The birth itself was a good experience and I was able to bring him into the world without major complications. He was vigorous from the start, and has no trouble breastfeeding or advocating for his own needs. But he isn't too fussy either, and only complains when he means it. I love him so much. And this whole fierce rushing in of joy and love when Torin slid into the world has broken me open like nothing else. My body was broken open, my life is broken open, my spirit was broken open and my heart is so tender and open. It hurts everything is so tender and open, and I can feel the joy and pain of this life so intensely. This is the state that we can all strive for spiritually for years, and can rarely achieve. And Torin has brought me there, at least for a little while.

With his birth I've crossed a threshold. It's like I am standing on a bridge, watching a river rush by beneath me. And this rushing water is my life, running away underneath me. It has always been there running, but I just couldn't see it until now. And now I do. And it makes everything so beautiful and poignant.