Birth Day

I was born yesterday, June 4, 2020, yawning close to midnight. I’m nine pounds, two ounces, twenty-two inches. People latch on to details, especially when they’re beneficial. Swaddled in animal pattern jammies, I shut my eyes.

Mum writhed all day, amid songs of joy and sighs of trepidation, before introducing me into a viral world defined by Covid-19. I’m compelled to solve the human-condition equation with mathematic precision like Isaac Newton.

I have a fleeting desire to return to the safety and warmth of the womb, but I’m certain it’s on lockdown. No wonder I took so long to pop into existence with all the craziness out here. Sorry, mom. I have a feeling I’ll be saying that a lot—sorry, mom.

I digress.

Anyway, I’m super cute. Exhausted like my mom, I sleep peacefully for what seems like an eternity after my dad’s honied breath and cooing lull me into a coma and I relax into his fuzzy beard and long dark hair. I hope he and mom slept too. They need it more than me, probably.

All in all, it was a superb first day joining life in the Badger State, a beautiful day. Oh, I have a name. It’s William. The name has family significance, and I’m fine with the moniker, as long as no one calls me Billy-boy or Wee-Willy. Bill would be fine, or Will. William I am. I think there’s a rapper named "will. i. am.” He likes black-eyed peas…no…his band is a pop group called “Black Eyed Peas.” I’m getting confused. How do I know these things? I’m still shedding the heavens, or whatever this ethereal stuff sticking to my psyche and my skin is that feels utterly sublime. I hope life feels this good. Little-by-little earthly existence sucks me into its fold, and I’m losing my grip on universality.

What is “feeling” anyway? I guess I’ll need a vocabulary and philosophy while I’m visiting. How hard can that be? Time will tell. Oh no. I’m already spewing clichés. Damn. Note to small self—be original.

Although my parents are smiling, my gut tells me they have depths of sadness behind their lovely faces. Maybe I can fix that with my magic? I want them to be happy. They’re gazing at me with such intensity. Their flowing voices, like rolling rivers, comfort me. They’re already great parents. Hi mom. Hi dad. I love you both very much. On the radio, Louis Armstrong is singing “What a Wonderful World.” I’m swaying in mum's arms—dad embracing us in a dance.