If I freeze-frame my daughter’s life to this point, I could revel in the short-lived chiasmic structure. Is it exactly chiasmic? Not quite, perhaps; she didn’t grow larger then grow smaller, thankfully. But her life at this point hinges on her birth, with nearly nine months on the inside and nine months on the outside. It’s an inverted relationship of sorts.
Like all of infanthood/babyhood/toddlerhood/childhood/life, this moment is passing all too quickly. If my life were a piece of paper, and if I could fold it so that it hinged at my baby’s birth, her inception would match with some time hovering around today. That seems a little magical to me. She was as microscopic then as she is macroscopic now.
To come closer to a true chiasmus: She grew in my insides, then outside she grew.
Grow on, baby.