When I was pregnant with my son, the doctor told me I needed to talk to the child I was carrying. I tried, but I was extremely shy, and the moment was so incredibly intimate and tender that I was overwhelmed with emotion. To help break the ice, i played music for us, often classical, and I'd sit my pregnant self in an old wicker rocking chair and rock away. All these dogs I'd collected sat around at my feet and listened with us. Inevitably, I'd fall into a drowsy revelry and imagine the dogs and I traveling in spirit to some dark, watery place where we swam with this infant I was carrying. This place was full of vague imagery I guess represented the past, present and future and was interwoven with threads from the playing music, like seaweed. After my son was born and had opened his eyes and been nursed, he started vocalizing in a way that seemed to me to be a kind of singing.
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