My second son was born recently. Right there in the hospital, we were visited by a stream of joyful relatives. The grandparents wore beaming smiles, and everyone wished me good health, happiness, and all the best.
My mother-in-law and father-in-law own a three-bedroom flat, while my mother and sister have a large, comfortable house. None of them seem to notice that our own fifteen-foot room will, quite frankly, be a bit of a squeeze.
My wife’s parents live in a lovely cottage in the countryside, with a thriving vegetable garden and a stream nearby. After moving out of London to the countryside, they have never responded to our suggestions about swapping homes.
Only once did my mother-in-law say to me, Were getting on in years, we dont sleep well anymore, each of us has our own room, and in the main room we watch the telly and have guests over.
I suppose she believes that the four of us will all sleep soundly, packed in like sardinesnever mind the usual cries of a newborn
All this was running through my mind, and I imagine it must have shown on my face, because the relatives quickly wrapped up their congratulations and hurriedly said their goodbyes.
After bidding them farewell, I gave my wife a wan smile and asked, So, when do you think well actually go home?She squeezed my hand, her eyes tired but shining. Home? she echoed, then glanced at our tiny sleeping son, cocooned against her chest. I suppose when were ready. Or maybe when we realize it isnt the room that matters.
We sat for a long moment, listening to his gentle breaths. The hallway outside echoed with nurses shoes and distant laughter, the noise of other families, other beginnings.
I looked at her, at our two boys, at the ridiculously small future we were folding ourselves into. And thensuddenly, absurdly, I laughed.
Maybe the sardines have it right, I said. At least theyre always together.
She grinned, and for a moment, even the thought of our little room didnt seem so cramped. We would fit, because we must. Because together, we already belongedwherever we happened to squeeze in.
Outside, a blustery wind rattled the window, carrying with it a promise of new seasons, new stories. And holding on to each other, we watched our newborn dream, warmed not by the size of any space, but by the closeness of our love.
