“Yeah, yeah, that’s what I mean. Are you glad I came to visit you?”
“We sure are,” Scott says. “We’re really glad you came to live with us.”
I decide to seize the dinnertime moment for a little spiritual inquisition.
I press a bit further. “Do you know where you were before you were in my belly?”
“Nowhere,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. A twinge of disappointment passes through me.
I often look at my children and say, “Where did you guys come from?” I say it with a laugh, as if the two of them just popped up in my living room, a surprise. Because a lot of the time that’s what it feels like. It used to just be Scott and I. Now there are these two little ones, with their almond-shaped blue eyes, long lashes and light skin. Sometimes I wonder if we kept having babies, if they’d all look like Max and Violet. Or if somewhere in the mix, we’d get one with my olive skin and dark eyes.
I’ve heard the philosophy that our children choose us before they’re conceived. This probably doesn’t sit well for those with horrific childhoods and broken parents. But I wonder sometimes. Did their spirits circle us in the night, watching, waiting? Did they live in other bodies, other lives before this one?
What do you think?