So, that is why I am always so amazed by the overwhelming feelings I have when I do truly have my own little newborns in my arms. What is it about these tiny babies? The emotions are definitely conflicting. Maybe that is part of the reason they are so very strong? The huge sways between feeling overwhelmed with responsibility and stress verses being overwhelmed with love and the feeling of being needed. The old, "There must needs be opposition in all things"? It is a bit roller coastery, and yes, if nothing else, the emotions are strong. Stronger than almost anything else I can imagine at the moment.
I literally spend most of the day holding or nursing Jesse, so why is it that I am almost miserable if he is out of my arms for any length of time? Last night he slept for about eight hours. Wonderful . . . only I woke every other hour missing him and wanting almost achingly for him to wake up so I could pull him from that painful distance of about two feet away in his cradle right next to me in bed where I could smell and snuggle him and kiss his soft tiny face. Is it because he spent nine long months growing inside of me and now my mind and body are reacting to this very large separation in our physical closeness? Maybe, but that can't be all of it. When I first saw my sister's Haitian son cradled in her arms I felt that same wonder and desire to have him close to me. The amazement over something I had created replaced by the amazement that somehow -- from impossibly far away -- this little one had been created and found his way to our family -- for all eternity. Just as impossible of a miracle. Is it because they are healing? Comforting? My sister Kathy took Jesse away from me at our recent family party and when I tried to reclaim him told me to leave her alone because she "needed" him. My sister Shannon will stop by my parents and before removing her coat or setting down her purse begin asking where my baby is. Why? Why does simply holding these tiny helpless little beings do so much good to our hearts? I don't know. It is all too powerful and too hard to explain. Maybe it is simply that they are still so so fresh from somewhere so holy. Maybe the longing I have to hold and be close to my tiny Jesse isn't much different than the homesickness we would feel if we could remember our heavenly home. How does that go . . . trailing clouds from heaven? Trailing stardust? When I took Jesse for his two week check up to my brother John (world's best pediatrician), he was going over some of the things they like to look for at this stage. He jokingly added in, "and of course, he should be spending a good deal of time looking over your shoulder at angels." We always say that they are looking at angels when those tiny gray eyes seem intent on something that none of the rest of us can see. Who knows. Maybe they are. These tiny ones have been waiting for millenia for their turn here, and then, here they are -- at last. I wonder sometimes how quickly the veil shuts over their eyes. They certainly seem to me to be quite a holy thing and it makes me feel such ridiculously strong emotions and such swellings of gratitude to be trusted with another one of these precious and amazingly strong "last days" little spirits. Oh Jesse, I love you!