Raspberries

On the morning that Canada won the gold medal in men’s hockey, I found myself out with some friends to engage in my patriotic duty. V held her eight-month-old son, whose tiny Team Canada jersey and drooly grin enchanted me. I asked if he’d consent to being held without crying.

“Careful,” she said as she handed him over, “You smell him and you’ll be pregnant in no time.” I laughed and breathed in his milky, baby scent.

Three hours later, when I presented my husband with a positive pregnancy test, he sputtered for a moment before shaking his head.

“Jesus, that kid works fast.”

***

I am tentative and scared, knowing that anything could happen. Children are not protected from harm by being wanted and loved. There is no circle of salt strong enough to keep even something so small and I assume nothing about the fall or any of the weeks that come before it. Still, right now there is a life, something the size of a raspberry with an inexplicably beating heart, and I will celebrate that for as long as there is something to celebrate.

I hope November is bright this year.

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