Post 50 | Unwrapped

that one small extra yopp put it over!
finally! at last! from that speck on that clover,
their voices were heard! they rang out clear and clean.
and the elephant smiled, "do you see what i mean?
they've proved they are persons, no matter how small.
and their whole world was saved by the smallest of all!"
horton hears a who

/ image by lennart nilsson

"Your baby's critical development will tail off in the next couple of days and weeks. His main task during the next six months will be to grow larger and stronger."

"Your baby has reached the maintenance phase.  All the major organs in formed, now they need to get bigger to support a bigger body outside the womb."

"His liver is making bile and her kidneys are secreting urine into her bladder.  He can close his fingers, curl his toes and clench his eye muscles when exposed to bright light."

"His ears are almost in their final positions on the side of his head.  Tiny fingerprints are now at the tips of her fingers (get that ink ready!)."

"Your baby has sucking muscles in her cheeks, so when you poke your tummy gently she will feel it and start rooting, preparing for survival in just a few months."  

"If you're having a girl, she now has approximately 2 million eggs in her ovaries. Half of your future grandchildren are inside you, too!"

"He may potentially be able to suck his thumb. Vocal cords created, preparing for the very first cry." 

(The following images are other babies at Ryan's last week of life.)

/ image by lennart nilsson

/ image by lennart nilsson

/ image by baby centre

/ image by amd worldwide

One of my after-midnight-routine these days is to spend time googling development and progress at the age Ryan died.  I feel like there was so much I didn't get to know about him, so studying and reading and re-reading what happens week by week, day by day if I can find it helps me.  It makes me feel more like a mother to my child than a freak-science-expirament.  The more I can (kind of) know about him, the better.  I don't know how many drawings, ultrasounds, real photographs and diagrams I've scrolled through of other babies at Ryan's age.  I didn't get to see him very well when he was born.  He was wrapped up in lots of tissue, cord and placenta.  When I held him I could feel the shape of his little self but I wasn't up for Body Scavenger Hunt in my tub of blood.  The thought of trying to tear away tissue but accidentally tearing off my baby's arm was too unsettling, and, to be honest, too dishonoring.  

(I've debated writing about heavy details, like these, because I know it's cringe-worthy and entirely un-cute and and distasteful.  What is sacred and just for me and Caleb?  What is a crucial part of our child's story, our story?  But there it is.  Here was our reality:  as I sat in the Nile's Curse, unsure as to what else would come next [more clots? More tissue? Did the placenta still have to come out?] we had to decide: get a knife or scissors and cut through this, but risk a gruesome dismembering scene, or let the wraps be and never see our child's face.  Ever.  It was an impossible and forceful decision.)

/ image from pregnant pause

 I was crying and standing up with candy-cane legs so I could see if anything important was happening.  And we decided to wrap our baby up in a blue towel, kept in his fleshy swaddling clothes.  The next day we closed him over with rocks and dirt in the earth, rolled the stone over the tomb, so to speak.  I await the day when that tiny hole is empty, when "he's not here!," when the scraps that embalmed his corpse lay in the dust, for he is risen... and alive.

It seems everywhere I go women are having their second babies.  Even the Duchess.  (We were pregnant with our first at the same time.  And who doesn't like to have an emotional connection to English Royalty?)  It seems that mom's in my Facebook groups are having Number Two by the droves.   I don't just see pregnant women... I see pregnant women with a toddler.  My second baby should look like this right now:

/ image by lennart nilsson

But he's wrinkled like a raisin in a wooden box 1300 miles away from me.  That makes me cry.  I feel my un-full-ness and am not a good person to talk to about how uncomfortable the third-trimester is (right now, at least).  Sometimes easy, deep, capable-bladdered sleeping is uncomfortable too.  Sometimes there is more than one way a heart can burn.  Occasionally I've felt phantom elbow-punches and pelvic pain (which is apparently normal, especially for women who lose children in the second and third trimester).  

/ one of four "belly pictures" i have.  one of four pictures i have of just me and my second little one. 

/ ryan was about this "much" old in the previous photo.

"And who took charge of the ocean when it gushed forth like a baby from the womb? That was me! I wrapped it in soft clouds, and tucked it in safely at night. Then I made a playpen for it, a strong playpen so it couldn’t run loose, And said, ‘Stay here, this is your place. Your wild tantrums are confined to this place.’" Job 38, MSG

“Do you know where Light comes from and where Darkness lives so you can take them by the hand and lead them home?" Job 38, MSG

“Master, come and see,” they said. Now Jesus wept.  And The Jews said, “Look how deeply He loved him.” John 11, MSG

"'Come!' say the Spirit and the Bride. Whoever hears, echo, 'Come!'
Is anyone thirsty? Come! All who will, come and drink, drink freely of Life!"

"He who can testify to these things, say it again: 'I’m on my way! I’ll be there soon!'" Rev 22, MSG

"He came out, a cadaver, wrapped from head to toe, and with a cover over his face.  Jesus told them, 'Unwrap him and let him loose.'" John 11, MSG

Post 49 | Families Who Made Me Want To Travel With Kids

"i can show you the world,
shining, shimmering, splendid."

I don't like being patronized, and I also don't like being wrong.  I'm to the point in life now where I realize how much I don't know, but I care enough about knowledge and experience to want all that juicy goodness.  People (in person and through testimony and indirectly) told me how impossible it was to travel with children.  ("Make sure you wait to have kids so you and Caleb can travel.  That all stops once babies come!  And you'll have to wait until retirement!"  It's okay, I used to talk about people and their future-babies completely out of line.  I have since learned better.  So I'm not bitter.  I know these people mean well.) 

Yes, is it true that having a minivan ("No, we're going to have an SUV.") full of kids changes your practical ability to travel like two honeymooners?  Sure, yes. But is there a way, as adults, to pursue the good things you love in life, when you have the energy and resources to do them, even if you have to be a little creative?  Even if you have offspring?  I say yes, maybe even especially in those instances. 

My parents never carted us to Europe for summer vacation, but we did get a more-than-normal dose of traveling as children.  All across America, especially up and down both coasts, Mexico and The Caribbean are in our photo albums.  My first trip to the beach happened when I was eight days old, and I flew on a plane across the country when I was four months old.  But aside from my own family, there are a handful of people I've watched and learned from over the years.  They've helped us have the gumption, realistic perspective and wonder to travel with our own little person.  It seems less intimidating when people around you are saying with their actions "Look, the effort was worth it.  You can do it, too!"

The Kaiser's

Nate and Jaclyn are renowned and scary-brilliant photographers.  These two crazies always seemed to be one place or another, tethered to their home-base in Los Angeles.  But a couple of years ago they made the huge decision to ditch suburban-city life and move away to the mountains.  They pulled their two kids out of school (opting for home-school), bought them some hiking boots, and now they explore the place they call home as well as the rest of the earth.  Their daily life and travel life are such beautiful adventures.  

/ image by nate kaiser

The Davis'

When I first heard of 'Taza' and her family she was living a stones-throw away in Washington DC.  Shortly thereafter they moved their two toddlers to New York City.  I love watching them do childhood in the heart of such a fast-city.  They always seem to find the cozy places.  But then I really popped an airplane seatbelt when I watched them travel throughout Europe as a family!  They've been multiple times and it's inspiring!  Toddlers Take Tuscany! And the Ukraine! And Prague!

/ image by naomi davis

The Coulson's

Aside from the unity and gentleness in this family (simply put: they are all nuts for each other), I love these guys because they remind me to get. out. side.  They're near the water or in the grass or under the trees constantly.  When I see pictures of them it makes me want to go for a walk and inhale earth.  With my family.

/ image by tim coulson

The Ferney's

Jordan and Paul Ferney made the stupendously bold decision to move from San Francisco to Paris, France with their two little boys.  That kind of spine is impressive when you're a couple, or even alone, but as a full family unit... I say bravo! I bow at your feet.  And they sure seemed to have had a heck of a time being there together.  What a magical experience from oldest to youngest!

/ image by jordan ferney

The Prouty's

Similarly to the Kaiser's, the Prouty Family sold their Southern California home and moved away to the mountains.  However, they loaded their four young children into a trailer eventually ending up in Washington State.  They saw some amazing things on their country-wide road trip!  I wanted to jump into their images like Mary Poppins Pictures!  Brave, creative and happy -- my kind of family!

/ image by joy prouty

The Baxter's

I'm going to let Bethy do the talking (an excerpt from her blog): "In every place I've lived we've always explored and known our area. It's fun to travel and vacation, but the majority of life is spent near home. Growing up in New Hampshire we took in so much of the beauty there. We loved regular visits to Boston, Maine and spots all over the beautiful granite state. When we were in DC for a year it was the same. We took in that area and loved every bit of it. Just simple days - together as a family, grabbing something to eat, spending most of the day in the car and seeing somewhere new - enjoying what was near to us. Not trying to get all cliche here - but it's so easy to forget the beauty, fun, history and places to explore just outside our doorsteps."

/ image by elizabeth baxter

So I say: whether you are single or married or a parent or anything else... Figure out how to travel if you want to!  Even if that means wandering your own city a little more often.  Be stubborn about it, and don't worry about what "they" say.  Enjoy your family and world to the fullest!

Post 48 | The Miscarriage Story

*** mildly graphic miscarriage information and personal details. ***

I had been told my womb was empty.  Two ultrasounds, both external and internal, showed an empty uterus.  I had bled a very very little.  Google search: second trimester miscarriage without bleeding.   Google search: miscarry without knowing it.  "Though you are supposed to be 14 weeks, it is likely the baby passed quite a while ago.  It's possible he was so small you didn't realize it had happened."  Google search:  first trimester miscarriage without bleeding.  "You will bleed for the next few days, but if the bleeding gets worse instead of tapering off, come back to the emergency room.  We'll want to make sure you aren't hemorrhaging or fighting an infection."

It sucked.  Our Ryan was due on my parent's would-be 26th Wedding Anniversary.  Right before the holiday season (our first without mama bear.)  We ran away to the seashore for a month -- me, my husband, my two babies -- both of whom lived off me, one sucking from the outside, the other sucking from the inside.  Out in the sunshine, with the three of them truly all-around me, I felt so much life.  I "noticed" plants in a way I never have before.  I sat in the rose gardens and enjoyed even the browning, rippled petals.  

But in the final 72 hours of our trip, my body hissed and leaked death.  I knew before I called the midwife, before I went to the ER, before I stood from the bathroom.  I didn't even get to say good-bye.  How cruel to never get a "Hello!" but no good-bye either?  How eerie and ridiculous.  I felt (mostly) physically fine and wanted to continue with our vacations plans, to close out this month away with family time in Disneyland.  It's the place I feel closest to my mother, and missing her in normal life is enough, so missing her in my-first-miscarriage-life was an aggressive punch to the nose.  I needed Main Street USA and churros.  It was going to be my escape to what, I believe, has promises of Heaven written all over it.  

Our Disney day was outstanding.  Rowdy responded like the children in the commercials, Caleb did that weird-laugh on his favorite rides and little girls dressed like Cinderella rode on carved, flying elephants above a singing fountain.  

And my baby, who I was told was no longer with me, was there too.  I found out he was there after the fireworks (the west coast version of the place Caleb asked me to go through life together -- he and I -- forever), just as Fantasmic began.  Crampy twists turned into labor contractions.  I leaned over to Caleb: "I think we need to go. Now. Or we will regret it."  He put Rowdy in the ergo, slung on the backpack and grabbed my hand.  We were going to try to get out of the park and to our hotel, but as we jogged past tiki torches and teriyaki skewers in AdventureLand, I commanded the need for a bathroom.  "Oh no. Caleb, Caleb, something is happening.  Something is happening right now."  It was the miscarriage version of dumping out water from those translucent blue kegs found in offices and waiting rooms everywhere.  Glug, glug, glug.  I could feel the heave and dump, over and over.  Caleb didn't want me to use the bathroom alone in case I passed out, but it was filled with women and little girls and even in the moment it felt not-right to storm in there with him.  People were around.  If I needed help I could yell or knock.

february 2012

may 2014

may 2014

Instantly the toilet filled with red liquid life.  I focused on breathing, on not getting light-headed.  Blood streamed down my legs.  I got up and went back to my husband -- I realized I might not be able to help passing out.  It was a lot of blood.  In the meantime he had found a Disney employee who ran with us to the charming First Aid building.  Women in teal polo shirts whirred around me, laying down mats and enormous pads and making horrible faces.  We waffled between getting an ambulance or having Caleb go back to our hotel to get our rental car to drive me to the hospital himself.  I didn't want an ambulance -- I wasn't dying.  I knew that.  Caleb, armed with two dead iPhones, a hand-drawn map on a sheet of paper with a blue castle logo, and a sleeping baby in a black carrier, left me to take a tram to the main road to walk to the hotel to get our car to return to a drop-off loop where I would join him.

I laid on my back in a room much like a movie-set of "old school hospital rooms."  Neat, clean blue beds lined against two walls.  White and bright, silver and sterile.  I went in and out of sleep during contractions and blood pours.  After 45 minutes I was woken up by a soft-handed brunette security guard.  "Your husband is here.  I'm going to take you to him."  I put my hand by my side to push myself up and I splashed in my own blood.  I was laying in a pool, half an inch thick.  The security woman laid three heavy-duty pads down for me and I carefully set myself into the wheel chair.  She pushed me out secret passages and behind-the-scenes areas to get to the road where Caleb was waiting.  Even in the moment, I knew how cool that was.  

Caleb looked relieved to see me, and terrified at the amount of blood.  Relief and terror at the same time is a face I won't forget.  We were (in essence) turned away at three clinics.  "All our beds are full, and we can't guarantee a time when she could be seen.  But she's welcome to wait in the waiting room."   Caleb debated telling them I was having a heart attack.  "Do they not know how serious this is?!  What if you're hemorrhaging?! Would they just like you bleed to death because there isn't a bed for you?!"  I like his angry rants.  Even if they talk about me dying.  He loves me.

We went to the biggest hospital we could find.  All the beds were full.  It was 11:30 pm on Friday night and I was seventh in line for a room.  I sat in my bloody wheelchair and crunchy (useless) pad until 2:30 am on Saturday morning.  Once in a room, Caleb held my newly IV-ed hand and 'slept' on a pillow of metal bed-rail.  I was so sad and tired.  The ultrasound tech came in two hours later and Caleb saw our baby on the screen.  A head, arms and fingers, legs and toes.  He looked at me tearfully.  I was afraid of the miscarriage process.  It hadn't happened yet and it had been so bloody and painful already.  What do I do?    What if it doesn't happen all on its own?  What am I supposed to expect?  Pieces?  Clots?  Chunks?  How much bleeding is too much?  What pain is concerning pain?  They don't do Bradley classes on how to miscarry.  Where to miscarry.  "I'm going with a highly-medicated home birth."  

The doctor saw us at 6:00 am and told me a few things I didn't already know: our baby had died at 12 weeks, my cervix was completely open,  and he expected me to miscarry all by myself in the next 48 hours.  April 10th is when he died.  I know April 10th.  It's the day my dear friend delivered her dead son, Bobby.  He was 20 weeks old and absolutely beautiful.   He was also perfect: no chromosomal abnormalities, no defects, no missing body parts.  He died one day, for no medical or biological reason.  I was texting our other dear friend Becca all day.  She was beside Janet, Bobby's mama, helping her labor to birth her baby.  No one came in to check the heart rate.  No one turned on the heating station.  Janet, Becca and I were all pregnant together.  Expecting within a couple months of each other.  Janet's loss was blind-siding, and I held my tummy all day long, letting tears come as they willed.  Before I went to bed, as I was receiving pictures of Bobby's tiny face, I felt a mermaid-tail flip inside me.  It was early, but my first and only kick of Ryan's I got.  I now wonder if maybe that's when he died?  Or maybe he was playing hard and fell asleep later in the night and then woke up in heaven?  I remember April 10th.

 We left the hospital and drove straight to the airport after fetching our eldest from Caleb's brother and his girlfriend in the waiting room.  A long night was had by all.  We had an 11 am flight to catch.  We talked over and over about our options, but decided to take our chances and fly.  We were headed to Dallas for me to shoot a wedding.  I couldn't think about that yet.  And I still had a week to worry about the wedding.  But I wanted to try to arrive, to get the flight out of the way.  We carried our luggage and Disney plastic bags and crap to the big windows in front of the ticketing gates.  I tried to find Rowdy's birth certificate and all the liquids in the carry-ons.  Rowdy took delight in pulling one item of clothing out at a time, putting it on his head, and running a few circles before starting again.  We let him.  Caleb had diarrhea (sausage McMuffin and coffee after a night in the emergency room, anyone?).  I felt thin and waif-like (I'm not... but my body was timid and drained.)  

You don't know until you know.  My group of three pregnant friends was down to one.  My mom wasn't around to call or come help.  My body held my dead baby.  And we were playing peek-a-boo at gate B3 in LAX.  When it comes time to never-be-the-same, you somehow just do.  

I delivered Ryan Day Morris on Sunday night, May 4th, in a friend's tub.  There are 100 reasons why I should have never been in that particular friend's house, let alone master bathroom.  But I'm grateful that that's where I was.  I'm grateful my husband was with me.   I'm grateful we weren't 30,000 feet in the air.  Contractions had laid low for most of the morning and afternoon, but 15 minutes after we arrived at our destination they started.  When they got too painful, I left the kitchen and conversation and went to the bedroom to labor.  

I'm grateful that though I didn't get 12,000 mother-moments with Ryan, I got a birth experience with him.  I had been so afraid of golf-ball-sized blood clots.  I worried I wouldn't know when he had come out, or that I would accidentally flush him down the toilet, or that he would get stuck.  The Lord told me "You're in labor.  You pushed out a very big baby once before, and now you're going to do the same with a much smaller baby."  The mental transition to over-the-top-clotty-period to natural labor was just what I needed.  It was calm, peaceful and nurturing.  It was my last chance to do something with Ryan, to be a mama to my baby.  I enjoyed in a heartbreaking way every stitch of it.  Swaying and breathing, with a good daddy rubbing my back.

The final large contractions set in, and I got in the warm tub (at my husband's recommendation) and quickly felt the urge to push.   Two painless pushes later, my apple-sized (much bigger than expected!) little one was "born."  No nurses.  No cord to cut.  No cry to wait for.  No skin-to-skin for bonding.  Caleb lifted his little boy out of the bloody water and wrapped him in a blue towel.  You don't know until you know how much you can love a wrinkled brown (human) lump.  The next morning we drove him out to the farm where his father and I met.  

On Tuesday May 6th our little family of four went out to the land we love so much, and we left one we love so much.  The house was built for the joy of little children like him; built with visions of him in mind.  Ryan ("Child of the King") Day ("Light, Hope") Morris lays outside our future-bedroom window, in the center of the future-front-garden.   When I walk over to his hole in this red earth, my heart carbonates and spills over.  Inside his too-small wood tomb (which is sealed shut by dad so "the ants don't get him.") is a heartfelt letter from each parent, and "dit! dit!" (sticks) from big brother.  I look forward to the day you sword-fight with sticks, while mom and I sit on the front porch with the Lion of Judah laughing at our side.  

"I love that God is leaving nothing undone. It's like He's going back in time and mending wounds, the big gashes and the tiny tears. He sees them all and He does not forget even when I try. I pushed things into the 'forget' corner because they were too small of hurts that didn't matter all that much. And yet God brings them to the light and says, 'This one too. I'll mend that too. I'm not done here.'"  [The Nato's]

Sing like never before, oh my soul.

Good-bye my baby.  Snuggle grandma for me.  Go delight in being the child of the King, and I'll be there to play and talk and get to know you very soon.  

Post 47 | Their Relationship

"Dad was happiest in a crowd, especially a crowd of kids. He had a way with children and knew how to keep them on their toes.  He had a respect for them, too, and didn't mind showing it. He believed that most adults stopped thinking the day they left school-and some even before that. 'A child, on the other hand, stays impressionable and eager to learn. Catch one young enough,' Dad insisted, 'and there's no limit to what you can teach.' Really, it was love of children more than anything else that made him want a pack of his own. Even with a dozen, he wasn’t fully satisfied. Sometimes he'd look us over and say to Mother: 'Never you mind, Lillie. You did the best you could.'" Cheaper By The Dozen 

"My relationship with you is more important than anything I've got to say to you.” 
randy alcorn

Post 46 | Pink Air + Maya

“anything that works against you can also work for you 
once you understand the 'principle of reverse.'” 
maya angelou

In the news of her death, a well-deserved online observance is occurring for Maya Angelou.  Quotes, praise, and gratitude -- I hope her family and closest friends feels the support and honor.  She deserves every letter of it.  But it also makes me smile, a bit.  People who could barely answer basic questions about her life, people who have never read one of her books, people who have no idea what she did with her 86 years, or where she came from are all of a sudden so interested.   Most of us posting about her can recall popular tumblr .jpegs or pinned designs with words of hers, and perhaps didn't even know she said them.  Hailing her as their hero! Inspiration! What an incredible legacy! (which, she IS all those things)  implies that we, collectively, as a generation, know her life.   I immediately felt foolish snagging a line from her, and vaguely inferring that I had been deeply impacted by her.  I don't know Maya Angelou, or much about her.  And maybe I'm one of the few.  Maybe most people know that following her rape she went through five years of silence, until her teacher made the effort to go on a Marguerite Treasure Hunt and open the jewels in side her.  Maybe most people know her real name is Marguerite Ann Johnson, and that she was the first San Francisco African-American cable car conductor.  And that she was a professional dancer, had her one and only child while in highschool, worked in Cairo, Egypt as an editor, that before her the last poet to share at a presidential inauguration was Robert Frost.  Maybe most people know that she composed, sang and recorded her own album which turned into an off-broadway review (she performed there, too).  Did you know that she worked at the University of Ghana, in Ghana, and was a professor at Wakeforest?  That she defied social norms and her mother to marry a greek man as a black woman? Did you know she has two cookbooks? (NewsOne) I didn't. 

In the two or three days I've had the pleasure of reading more about this woman, I've been moved.  She's far more than an aw-moment at midnight, and her thoughtful words come from decades of torment, risk, exploration and pursuing her happiest things.  She, quite simply, can't be labeled by a job description -- she did a little bit of everything, and I would imagine that took some big girl panties.  It took steel skin despite hate and shame.  It took grace, poise and stubbornness.  She writes with experience, and it's just plain lame to pretend like we know what she was talking about, or what she means.  The beauty of life is that even without knowing her well, or understanding the depths of life she endured and rose above, we can commiserate with even a single sentence from her mouth. 

Since mom and Ryan have passed away, a familiar refrain in my head and amongst loved ones is "I can't wait for heaven."  And when I say it, I mean it.  I can't imagine looking forward to the promises of "pain erased, joy full, faces unveiled" any more than I do right now. Yet, interestingly enough, as the days tread by and by I find myself with more hope for being alive on earth than I ever did before.  Not just hope that someday earth will be gone, but hope here, now!  Hope that is dumbfounded at the joy that comes through overcoming a challenge -- there will be no challenges in heaven (praise God!)  I appreciate,  "the period of silence [and pain] that actually allowed [us] to absorb [our] surroundings more intensely" (Maya Angelou) in a way I simply couldn't have before mom died, before I delivered a dead baby in a bathtub.  My nerve endings are raw and to be frank, it feels "good" to learn.  It feels good to progress as a soul and mind, and to know that in two years I'll look back and say "Oh, I was so different then.  I'm so glad I changed."  It's empowering to look at death in the face and make eye-contact.  It's horrible.  But I can only dream of how much more vibrant heaven will be thanks to staring at those wicked black eyes.  Earth is more vibrant! And some nights, perhaps in the middle of May, at an acquaintance's lake house with my boys, I look around I am convinced the world has never been more beautiful.  I silently absorb the weight of a baby signing "more" with his hands -- completely out of context, which makes me wonder if he has any idea what it means.  Is it another "trick"? Like a high-five? "Sure, I'll do this... they seem to get excited and sometimes I get more food? Why not..." --, the weight of white against blue, air (air!) that is slightly pink, barbecue smoke, the clunk of water meeting a dock, my snow-man shaped shadow (I have the healthy body of a part-Italian-woman-mother), curious beetle-tap feet from a small boy and delighted laughs from a young dad.  Can you feel it?  Isn't it heavy on your back, warm over you in bed, whipping around you on a walk?  

The concluding moral of this post: know people and life well.  Don't fear the struggle, feel it instead.  Take five minutes or five years of silence to learn, do soul-push-ups and come back stronger, whole-er, happier.  The very things this life uses against you have the potential to be the strongest goodnesses. And perhaps when you die someone, somewhere will quote you.

"I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you...
The very first tear he made was so deep
that I thought it had gone right into my heart.
And when he began pulling the skin off,
it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt.
The only thing that made me able to bear it was
just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. 

 And there was I smooth and soft as a peeled switch
and smaller than I had been.
Then he caught hold of me –
I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath
now that I’d no skin on —
and threw me into the water.
It smarted like anything but only for a moment.
After that it became perfectly delicious.
As soon as I started swimming and splashing
... I’d turned into a human again...”

cs lewis // voyage of the dawn treader -- a book i have read ;)

[ps. If you really did know Maya Angelou and her works well before her passing, high-five.  You're the man.  No judgement ;) ha!]