Recently, all of my friends started having babies. I realized that I have a lot to bone up on if I'm going to be prepared for all of the showers, parties and religious ceremonies associated with this influx of little people.
Today, as Mrs. Dude is late in her 30-something week of pregnancy, I am hoping for a day without labor. A day without contractions and any of the other messy stuff that precedes the birth of a baby.
You're Jewish now, Mitt. Mazel Tov! Welcome to the tribe. L'Chaim! Your new name is Morris Berkowitz and you're from Queens. Your mother-in-law lives in Florida. She doesn't like you because you're not a doctor. (She voted for Ron Paul because he is a doctor.)
In this welcoming of our baby into the Jewish community, I found catharsis after the trauma and isolation of birth. We emerged from the raw, postpartum state into the warmth of society.
Suddenly, my Reformed upbringing and eight-week study abroad program in Israel seem puny compared to her full-on, by-the-books, hardcore Orthodox ways.