Dear Sweet Love,
Ritual. Tomorrow is a very, deeply special day to me. You won’t remember a thing but, I think, deep down, you’ll care. As an adult, you’ll care. It’s an identity thing. Tomorrow is the day of your baptism. I’ve just finished ironing your entire outfit–handmade by your Grandma on your father’s side. Little onesie, blanket, bonnet, bib, booties, all white with a gentle blue ribbon sewn into it. All antique looking and beautiful. Our house is full of family–your grandparents, and your grandfather on my side. Nana is in her house up the block from us, and tomorrow we re-create Easter and, with this one, also erase the last Easter from our memory. Last Easter, Abba was alive, and we hunted for eggs with the girls, and it was a big day. And then he died. So, this Easter, we baptize you, and we wipe the slate clean for future Easters, too.
Chris bought a suit for the occasion, and Michelle sent me pictures of the dress she’s considering, and your dad will wear a suit and I just ironed my skirt, bought new shoes, got my hair done, hired a photographer.
After, we go out to brunch downtown and drink mimosas, and Chris and Ryelyn got your father a cigar. It’s such a big deal. And we imbue this day with meaning. We rub it in, massage it in, create the meaning ourselves. We could do nothing; we could wear jeans and t-shirts, not celebrate, not make it a big deal at all. The day, however, is such a big day that first, it calls on us to meet it at a higher level than that. And second, life is also meant for pleasure, and pleasure is, in part, waxing on.
Goodnight, sweet marvel. Tomorrow will be beautiful. Tomorrow you will be baptized in the name of the three, and loved, loved, loved beyond love loved.