Two months before Perry was born, I sat in the tiny church in Rushworth for my beloved grandmother’s funeral.  Sparrows flew back and forth high in the steepled ceilings inside the church. After I delivered a eulogy, one of them deposited a little gift from above.  It landed on my big tummy, right where Perry’s head was, in breech position, next to my heart, according to the 4D ultrasound that I had paid for a few days earlier.  Since such gifts are supposedly considered good luck, I gave it credit when, at my next prenatal appointment, the midwife said that my baby had turned and was now positioned head down (a ruse that he apparently pulled off for the next 2 months and five…