Feto en el vientre de su madre, c. 1510-1512
Fuente: https://commons.wikimedia.org/
If someone saw me moving the little pot around my house, searching for a ray of sunlight, they might think I was crazy.
That’s how I was for several weeks.
They were flower seeds I received as a parting gift at a baby shower. The theme of the celebration was “Baby in Bloom,” a beautiful way to symbolize the joy of new life blossoming.
I apologize if I’ve become repetitive with the baby theme lately (my daughter is expecting and my daughter-in-law recently gave birth), but when I’m around a pregnant woman, I can’t help but remember that poem, “Maternity,” by the Argentinian poet José Pedroni, which begins:
Woman, in a silence that will taste of tenderness,
for nine months your waist will grow…
Getting back to my little plant, the instructions on the seed packet said that all I had to do was put them in soil, some sunshine, and keep them moist. The word “sunshine” can be tricky at this time of year in these latitudes, so I spent my time moving the little plant from one corner of my house to another, searching for a ray of sunlight to hit it directly.
Weeks went by, and nothing.
On November 7th, the long-awaited baby was born.
A luminous day.
The same that, finally, two little green leaves sprouted in my pot.
Fragile, but tenacious, like every new life that appears on this planet.
I will continue to lovingly care for my little plant, giving it all the warmth I can, just like those other flowers—my grandchildren—that are blooming in what I mistakenly thought was barren land.
And I leave you with the end of the poem by Pedroni that my father used to recite with his eyes closed, emphasizing each syllable with his kind hands.
One day, a sweet day with gentle suffering,
you will break, laden like a branch in the wind,
and it will be the joy
of kissing your hands, and finding in our son
your own simple brow, your mouth, your gaze,
and a little of my eyes, a little, almost nothing…
