December 12, 2020

Luma and I stood outside Mount Sinai today for over an hour waiting for a Covid test, and all the while I thought about her birth. I thought about her birth, and I thought about Antimo’s birth a few years prior, and about Iole’s birth a couple of years before that. I told Luma how we zoomed along Murray Street in the early hours of the morning, and how eight hours later she flew out of me with three almighty pushes. I told her how her Papa and I, with our parents, sat in the Tim Horton’s at the corner of College and University at midnight, me in my nighty and bare feet, eating bagels and drinking tea as we waited for Iole to come. Antimo was the quietest of the three; he arrived with little fuss or fanfare and settled into my chest like he’d lived there forever. The world is weird. A mile long lineup of people, six feet apart, in surgical masks. And there we were, singing Blondie songs, sharing stories, and trying to make it all feel less weird.


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