Again, the steadying presence of Joseph brought her through childbirth. But once the child was born, Mary’s pride surfaces and she will contend with God, if necessary (as any mother would), for the life of her son.
It had been a hard nine months—her frail
body struggling to keep God alive inside her—
the morning sickness and the craving
for wheat germ and honey—she’d lost
her appetite for meat, and would only eat
the ripest fruit. When she tried to sleep,
on some nights, he would sit on her bladder,
then shift suddenly, and she’d wait
in the darkness until he’d settle down
to the pressure of her hands on her belly.
And when the time came, he wanted
to come out feet first, but Joseph turned him
around and guided him into the light.
She held Joseph’s hands, then lifted the child
to her breast and suckled him with the milk
made from her blood. For until he was ready
to do God’s work, he was her son.