Sublime Divine, Baby of Mine

My mother had some sort of falling out with her Roman Catholic faith when I was in 7th grade. It allegedly had something to do with the church's view on women, but to tell the truth, it is probably a convoluted conspiracy theory my mother has concocted about how the Pope is somehow responsible for holding her back in life. It was those wretched nuns at her Catholic high school, you know. Don't ask. It makes sense somewhere in her mind.

I never was confirmed in the Catholic faith, and it is just as well. Organized religion seems a purely manufactured thing having more to do with money and politics than spirituality. As my 12-year-old was observing the architecture of the old church we were visiting yesterday, noting that it must have cost a fortune and an incredible amount of labor to construct the building, my cynical mind thought about how many people could have been better helped in other ways than by imported marble and tile mosaics.

We were in New York City for the baptism of a friend's infant. My son has not been baptized, and I gave him a lot of shit about how we were going to do an impromptu dunking and dub him a name that would embarass him before the congregation and all his friends forevermore. He almost believed me. I have about 100 nicknames for him and I routinely threaten to get on his school's PA system to call him forth by one of them. It's a good way to keep him in line. Works better than corporal punishment.

Eleven babies were Christened. I hadn't been to one of these services in a long time. The priest gave a nice sermon. He talked about how the delight we take in our children, how we want to give them the world is but a hint of how God feels for us. It's a nice sentiment. It certainly made me feel all suffused and mushy with maternal love for my little monster. He was all, "Mommmm, quit hugging me." Poor kid.

In my current state of mind, seeing all those tiny babies was a little difficult. Or maybe not difficult. I am one of "those" who does think there are coincidences. But if I were inclined to use things as a "sign" to move my own agenda forward, I'd say the in-my-facedness of happy babies and families in multiples no less in a freaking church might be a Higher Power sign nudging me towards becoming a mommy again. It sure did kick my ovaries into longing, if ovaries do such a thing.

However, I think we can see what we want to in any situation. I might've seen all those families as a screaming chaos if I were on the side of proving that children were noisy inconveniences. It's all in your chosen point of view.

I sometimes dream about my son getting himself into trouble. I am a much more violent and nasty parent in my dreams. It is all about fear. And my son is a much more wild child, willful and trying to get away from me. Not listening. Putting himself in horrific danger. Or merely being a complete idiot. Sometimes I wake from these dreams and jokingly yell at my son for being a bad child in my sleep. My kid said to me the other day, "I think you have those dreams about me so you appreciate what a great kid I am in reality."

I laughed out loud at that. See, it's all in the perspective.