Today, after my yoga class with teachers, Claire and I were invited to Tina’s 4th grade classroom to watch a chick peck its way out of a smooth white shell. There we were: four adults and three kids, faces pressed over the glass incubator watching this wet, yellow chick birth itself, one peck at a time. Classical music was playing in the background. “It helped me relax when I was in labor,” Tina said, grinning.
The baby would peck, sink down, catch its breath, begin again. Two other chicks were already flopping around, fluffing themselves up under the heat lamp. Breathe. Peck. Push. Like any good doula, Claire kept saying, shhhh! when people started talking too loud. Finally the little guy flopped out of the shell, eyes closed, completely spent. Claire and I looked at each other and said, “Let’s go home.” We were wrung out.
My husband’s friend, Mike Chickowitz (sp?) is coming to visit us tomorrow. They were musicians in Los Angeles years ago. Mike’s nickname is Chick.
Two chicks in one week. Sweet.