talking to an infant

I recall his birth and the words that were reported to me later, “grey and floppy.”  Thank you, Father, that now he’s creamy blush and wriggly.  But then…  I remember when they waved him past my eyes after his surgical delivery.  I tell him now as I change him out of his spit-up covered clothes, “You had a golden glow.  I don’t go in for that aura stuff, and maybe it was the drugs they gave me, but you were golden.  I thought you might be a blonde or a redhead because you seemed to radiate light.  Do I embellish now, almost six months after the fact?  I don’t know.  Maybe.  But you are a special child.  Imago Dei… and a sinner.”


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