work of the heart.

When you ask my nephew to spell his name, he bursts out exuberantly with T! R! E! Y!, each letter with its own exclamation point. His smile, full of trust and childish belief, has tattooed itself on my heart, and I am a better person for it. When we cross the street, his small hand curls inside mine, our palms touching, my grasp tight, to keep him from falling behind or running away into the unknown or a space of danger.

Sometimes it feels dangerous to love him. Dangerous because the terror of losing him, G-d forbid, or of something bad happening, inhabits the flip side of a love that great. He has carved out a space in all our lives that can only be filled by his laugh and his excited speech. Children bring out the best in ourselves, they help us remember who we once were and maybe who we wanted to be. They bring us back to a pure space inside, and crowd out any cynicism and sadness.

I approach this from the point of view of an aunt. I do not pretend to know what it is like to be a mother. But I do know this: I would die for that boy. I would do anything in my power to make his life a little easier, to ease his way through this difficult world. And so would almost everyone in his life. He is helpless to take care of himself; he depends completely on others. The choice to have a child is a choice to give yourself over to this person for the rest of your life, to some extent. Your life will never be the same, and it is said that the decision to have a child is the decision to have your heart walk outside your body for the rest of your life, which is a pretty apt description.

I realize not everyone feels this way about parenting, and I will never understand that. It is not your right to be a parent; it is a privilege. And those who don't realize what a gift it is.....well, I feel sorry for you.