St. Wudgie

Two disclaimers right up front. 1. God Bless Mother Theresa. 2. God forgive me.

OK. Now that is out of the way, the story.

When the Wudgie was born, I knew she would be the most beautiful baby in the entire world. I was right about that. I also knew she would, for the first 24-36 hours of her life, bear a strong resemblance to the Wizard of Oz. It was inevitable, I thought. All newly born babies look like the man behind the curtain. I was wrong about that.

Wudgie really really really looked like Mother Theresa. Complete with the robes of Calcutta.

In a moment of just the two three of us alone in the hospital room, Wudgie's mother and I looked very closely at her sleeping all swadled in the hospital-issued striped blanket. Wudgie's mother, all serene and calm from a combination of influences (everything from "here's my beautiful baby" to "I am sooo glad this is over" to "when is my next pain pill because I had an emergency c-section?") was inspecting the goods that was her sleeping baby girl. I was hovering over, basking in the moment. And then I blurted out "Oh my gawd, she looks just like Mother Theresa". Wudgie's mother, from that same combo of emotions (see above), busted out laughing. And screaming. Because it hurt to laugh. But she knew it was true. Our own little MT. Saint Wudgie.

Well, the photos above maybe don't capture that clarity of comparison that we saw that night almost 17 months ago. But it was there. And it was funny. God forgive me. please.