So I’ve added boys to the mix of babies I’ve held. In all its complication it was delightful. I so love babies. And their moms and the infant eyes looking up at you and their heads on your shoulder. Its a good reminder… remember…there can be joy. Each child is it’s own universe. I can enjoy them as separate from Will, from Tiger. Now. Holding your own is something else entirely almost. You can imagine the relief! Lucky enough to truly enjoy babies again! That part of grieving was the worst.
Oh yes. But pregnant woman that I don’t know- the ones that I just run into rounding the corner, walking the dog, on the subway. Those beautiful bellies, the tender hand rubbing them, the *glow* in their eyes. The shiny hair and long nails. Oh, those beautiful bellies and trimester and the yoga and the preparation and the partner beside them- watchful and amazed- their hand gently taken to the curve, mother’s hand on top, to feel the alien kicks and then the mutual smile at the moment of impact. It’s all so magical… so unbelievable that we do this as humans. To do this- the man that feels so envious of this ability in woman? Me x 1000 with a shadowing dose of memory.
Maybe because this was my life with my boys. This was their life with me. It will always be magic.
Oh we should have children at 22.