One day last week, I was lying in bed nursing Tad and for a moment, feeling him snuggled up against me, I flashed back to when he was a tiny cheesy newborn lying naked on my belly, and I felt this lovely warm fuzzy feeling.
Does that seem like not a big deal? Do most people look at their children and think fondly, "Oh, I remember when you were born"?
It's a big deal to me. The first six weeks of his life are like this huge chasm of exhaustion and tears, and when I came out on the other side of it and finally started feeling like I loved him...well, it was a whole new thing. There was no continuity between the love I developed for that six-week-old baby and the love I had for the baby who did gymnastics in my womb and was delivered purple and hollering into my arms.
Now there is, and it gives me hope that maybe someday there won't be a gaping chasm like a raw wound in that spot in my memories. Maybe someday there will just be a little scar, that you can see if the light hits it just right, but if you weren't looking you wouldn't even know it was there.