I suppose that, just as amazing as the creation of this baby is – an entire body all set and ready to go, ready to house a spirit when, nine months ago, nothing more than a small speck of it existed – equally amazing is that they come somehow handing you a full supply of something like . . . love and utter devotion.
It’s kind of a good little magic trick I suppose. “Here I am,” they say. “Feed me, and comfort me, and wake up all night with me. Change non stop diapers, and wipe spit up and be, as a side of birthing me, a bit of a physical disaster yourself.” And somehow they have us agreeing wholeheartedly, covering them with kisses, wanting to hold them even when we finally get a moment to set them down, and overall convinced that these helpless and utterly demanding creatures are the greatest treasure we’ve ever been given.
Here is the beginnings of a little post I started, and never finished, the other evening:
I'm sitting on our big, brown, living-room couch in an utterly quiet house.
The insanely hot July weather we've been having has taken the day off and a cloudy, evening has set in. Outside our many windows I see trees blowing strongly in the wind.
Mike has taken the kids off to run errands and left me here – alone with our three-day-old daughter.
I've purposefully unswaddled her as she sleeps resting against me – even though I know that means there will be no chance of setting her down without her startling herself back awake; but I wanted to be able to rub her wrinkly, little feet; and run my fingers along the peach fuzz covering her impossibly soft shoulder and arm. Her lower lip is pushed somewhat sideways from her cheek being snuggled up against me. I can hear her short little breaths and see her small, blonde lashes.
I imagine I didn’t finish it because Summer demanded otherwise, and, at six days in, I still have no clue how, or when, life will be the least bit normal again. I don’t know how we’ll manage when we can no longer sit in this “time out” stage of all of life revolving around her unpredictable wants and needs; but, I feel so incredibly grateful to be in the place that I am. A place that allows me to appreciate things like fuzzy arms, tiny ears, and baby smell without battling a sense of panic at the same time. I’ve had that overwhelming sensation with some of my newborns; enough to be incredibly grateful that I don’t seem to have much of it now.