through the name book together under the covers after school. We only considered girls’ names. With or without a penis, this baby was a girl. We made a list. Kate, Miranda, Anna, Louise, Helena . . . and Eliana, a Hebrew name. “Eliana’s a pretty name,” said Julia.
The translation of Eliana was “My God has answered me.”
I wondered who Eliana might be, what question or prayer was answered.
I had way too much time, lying on my left side, to think, and I thought about this name and this baby.
Scene 5
Under the Radar
Eliana.
She wants to be born. She doesn’t know she wants it. Against all odds, she is determined. And so she slips under the radar. She makes it into the Book of Life, just in time. Just as God is closing the Book at the end of Yom Kippur, she glides unseen between the covers and onto the page where her mother’s and father’s and sister’s fates are also inscribed.
This is the reason for the name Eliana. “My God has answered me,” the Hebrew translation. But from whose point of view? Whose God? Which “me”?
I think it’s the baby’s point of view, the baby’s question, the baby’s God. This baby wanted so much to be born that she slipped under the radar. Hid until it was too late to turn back, until she was ensured safe passage.
But it’s generally assumed that it’s my God who answered me , the fulfillment of my dream of fertility. The universal quest of barren, fairy-tale couples.
“The fisherman and his wife had long prayed for a child.”
“The old couple, well past childbearing years, found a beautiful little girl in the open petals of a rose.
“... in a seashell on the beach;
“... in a basket on the doorway;
“... the Old Farmer’s Wife had always longed for a child. She drank the milk from a magic coconut and gave birth to a frog, and raised him as though he were a regular little boy.”
“The barren witch stole baby Rapunzel and raised her in a tower.”
“Lonely old Rumpelstiltskin demanded the first-born baby in exchange for weaving straw into gold.”
What woman does not yearn for fertility?
“Congratulations!” is the only proper greeting to the pregnant woman, whatever her age or circumstances, but especially if she had been considered infertile, and her pregnancy is considered a miracle.
“Congratulations! When are you due?”
And if she’s older, “Congratulations!” can be accompanied by laughter and teasing, with sexual innuendo.
“God said to Abraham, ‘As for Sarah your wife, I will give you a son by her.’ . . . Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed, and said to himself, ‘Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old? Can Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear a child? GetOutaHere, Lord! My old wife?’ said Abraham, rolling on the ground in paroxysms of laughter.”
Or was God answering me?
This might have been the answer to my question at age thirty, when I longed for a child. If so, God is fourteen years late. Past the statute of limitations.
Tell me, Baby, was God answering you?
“Yes, Mama. I, miniscule trickster, pulled this one off, without benefit of consciousness, without benefit of breath or brain or lungs, with only the shadowy precursor of a beating heart. My first game of hide-and-seek. I hid for six months in the smaller horn of your two-horned uterus, staying as small and quiet and tucked in as I could, and tricked you into thinking I wasn’t there. Every time you looked for me, I flipped to the other side of your womb, fooled you into not looking for me anymore, and then showed up unannounced on a TV screen—BOO!—Trick or treat, trick or treat! Give me something good to eat!
I’m a Hermaphrodite trickster,
Between and betwixter!
I’m waving at you, Mama.
I am Eliana! Eliana!”
I don’t remember wishing for a baby. My wishes of recent years have more to do with slowing down, simplifying, streamlining, relaxing the demands of parenting, lowering the wattage on the challenges
The translation of Eliana was “My God has answered me.”
I wondered who Eliana might be, what question or prayer was answered.
I had way too much time, lying on my left side, to think, and I thought about this name and this baby.
Scene 5
Under the Radar
Eliana.
She wants to be born. She doesn’t know she wants it. Against all odds, she is determined. And so she slips under the radar. She makes it into the Book of Life, just in time. Just as God is closing the Book at the end of Yom Kippur, she glides unseen between the covers and onto the page where her mother’s and father’s and sister’s fates are also inscribed.
This is the reason for the name Eliana. “My God has answered me,” the Hebrew translation. But from whose point of view? Whose God? Which “me”?
I think it’s the baby’s point of view, the baby’s question, the baby’s God. This baby wanted so much to be born that she slipped under the radar. Hid until it was too late to turn back, until she was ensured safe passage.
But it’s generally assumed that it’s my God who answered me , the fulfillment of my dream of fertility. The universal quest of barren, fairy-tale couples.
“The fisherman and his wife had long prayed for a child.”
“The old couple, well past childbearing years, found a beautiful little girl in the open petals of a rose.
“... in a seashell on the beach;
“... in a basket on the doorway;
“... the Old Farmer’s Wife had always longed for a child. She drank the milk from a magic coconut and gave birth to a frog, and raised him as though he were a regular little boy.”
“The barren witch stole baby Rapunzel and raised her in a tower.”
“Lonely old Rumpelstiltskin demanded the first-born baby in exchange for weaving straw into gold.”
What woman does not yearn for fertility?
“Congratulations!” is the only proper greeting to the pregnant woman, whatever her age or circumstances, but especially if she had been considered infertile, and her pregnancy is considered a miracle.
“Congratulations! When are you due?”
And if she’s older, “Congratulations!” can be accompanied by laughter and teasing, with sexual innuendo.
“God said to Abraham, ‘As for Sarah your wife, I will give you a son by her.’ . . . Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed, and said to himself, ‘Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old? Can Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear a child? GetOutaHere, Lord! My old wife?’ said Abraham, rolling on the ground in paroxysms of laughter.”
Or was God answering me?
This might have been the answer to my question at age thirty, when I longed for a child. If so, God is fourteen years late. Past the statute of limitations.
Tell me, Baby, was God answering you?
“Yes, Mama. I, miniscule trickster, pulled this one off, without benefit of consciousness, without benefit of breath or brain or lungs, with only the shadowy precursor of a beating heart. My first game of hide-and-seek. I hid for six months in the smaller horn of your two-horned uterus, staying as small and quiet and tucked in as I could, and tricked you into thinking I wasn’t there. Every time you looked for me, I flipped to the other side of your womb, fooled you into not looking for me anymore, and then showed up unannounced on a TV screen—BOO!—Trick or treat, trick or treat! Give me something good to eat!
I’m a Hermaphrodite trickster,
Between and betwixter!
I’m waving at you, Mama.
I am Eliana! Eliana!”
I don’t remember wishing for a baby. My wishes of recent years have more to do with slowing down, simplifying, streamlining, relaxing the demands of parenting, lowering the wattage on the challenges
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