Then when I moved into a shelter in my seventh month of pregnancy, one of the residents, a psychic, said she saw a huge male spirit standing behind me. I was having a boy. She was positive. And when he grew up he was going to be huge. At that point, being in a shelter and all, my baby's boyness didn't matter to me. The psychic's prophecy was only mildly amusing. So two weeks before my due date, I had this dream: I'm in what looks like a sewing room, sitting at a machine with bolts of fabric and a teenage boy holding fabric scissors, helping me cut. That was the extent of the dream. I knew, then, I was going to have a son.
He came out via my belly. And I named him after my dad, a very old-fashioned name. I really didn't want him to have the name but his papa thought it would be a great tribute.
He and I are polar opposites - yin and yang. I'm dark. He's light. I'm fat. He's slim. He lets his grandma's crazed nagging comments roll down his back I can't.
My now three year old is 40 inches tall, just over one meter. Everyone says he's huge.
posted by techa @ 11:46 AM
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