The Bump in My Begonia

One morning mid-July I stepped out onto our deck and noticed a bump in my potted begonia.

It was solid yet spongey, made of twigs, leaves, little bits of light green moss, and a small scrap of candy wrapper.

At first I thought something was wrong with the plant. 

But as I stepped away, a small nutmeg-colored wren swooped in with bits of dried grass in her beak. For the next few minutes, she and her mate brought in materiel to complete their domed nest.

These sweet little Carolina Wrens had chosen a spot not 15 feet from my back door for their second nesting of the season. Location, location, location. 

Over the next day or two, they worked diligently making their summer home cozy and waterproof. It even had a little porch for them to step on before entry or exit. 

Domed nest complete with front porch, sleeps four to six.

Shortly, the female laid her first egg. The next day, a second egg. And so on until there was a clutch of four.

A clutch of four Carolina Wren eggs

Not more than 48 hours afterwards I caught one of the parents singing to high heaven as if to say "Look at us! Look at us! We've done something fabulous!"

She and he took turns guarding their babies, and after two weeks the little chicks hatched.

Two of the four chicks. Those straight yellow lines? Those are the beaks. 

At first they were nothing more than pulsating fluff but day by day they grew as mother and father brought nurturing food. 

Bringing home the bacon. Or bug. 

Within 10 days the chicks' eyes opened and their parents called out to them from a nearby tree. It was time.

Still mostly fluff but the yellow outlined-beak is apparent.

 Gingerly,  the chicks made their way to the front porch to see what all the fuss was about.

The first two chicks get ready to leave their domed nest.

And within another day, all four had fledged and flown away. 

It didn't take more than a month for the entire process to play out before my watchful eye, but I was transfixed. And flattered. Of all the places in this beautiful countryside to raise their children, this Carolina couple chose close to our home. 

There is nothing left now but the bump in my begonia. And a warm reminder of continued life.
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Singing it, loud and proud!

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An October Epilogue: 

Now that the begonia is done for the season, I was finally able to extract the wrens' nest from the planter. Such lovely work they did!

The Inversion of Joy

Nine months gone now.

I remember being pregnant with Carey, all the excitement and nerves as the weeks flowed along. I read books, rented videos, talked with other young moms. There were baby showers, and old women patting my arm at the bank. I got the nursery set up, onesies washed, diapers stacked and rocker set. But all the preparation did not really ready me for the first moment my baby lay in my arms.

Sure, people reminded me about poopie diapers and midnight feedings. But they neglected to mention the joy - the absolute joy - of seeing my infant yawn for the first time. That sweet little mouth and soft round cheek. Because, hands down, there is nothing more adorable in the world than seeing that first precious calm of your baby. And I mean nothing. 

And the first time I made my baby laugh? Oh, sweet heaven! If they could hook me up to a seismograph my emotions would be off the chart. 

And the second and third giggles are just as good! So is the tenth. But then . . .

. . . Gradually, somewhere around the thirty-fourth time it's not quite as wonderful. Still cute. But not the thrill it once was. Over time, the adorability became less and less marvelous, and more and more part of my day in day out life.

In a lot of ways, Carey's death is very similar. Only it's the exact opposite on the seismograph. Instead of exhilarating highs, there are sharp ravines. Instead of rippling giggles, there's a long, long piercing silence. 

It's the inversion of joy.

Now instead of joyful firsts, I face their tragic inversion. The first Christmas without Carey. The first Mother's Day with no phone call from him hoping he beat his brother to the punch. The first Cubs win of the season. The first time I had to refer to him in the past tense. 

It's been nine months now. 

As it was with my baby's first milestones, these tragedies too will fade, the edge will dull and gradually be absorbed into my day in day out life. And next year will be a tiny bit easier. 

At least I hope so.