Smitten
So, I have a baby.
Most of the time, when I'm with the baby, it just seems normal: she cries, and I pick her up. She poops, and I change her diaper. She stares at me with that inscrutable newborn gaze, and I gaze back. It all comes quite naturally.
Until I say, "So, I have a baby." And then it seems weird.
Last week, J surprised me by showing up on my doorstep wearing a pig costume. She and Gizmo had driven here from PA without telling me they were coming. It occurred to me that, a year ago, if someone had told me that there would be a photo of me holding my baby and standing next to J, who was wearing a pig costume, I would have thought it was surreal.
Incidentally, exactly a year ago, my mom died.
Today was kind of a rough day. But now the baby is in her swing, covered up with the pretty blanket with her name embroidered on it, and she's making faces while she falls asleep. I wouldn't trade her for anything, not even my mom.
Most of the time, when I'm with the baby, it just seems normal: she cries, and I pick her up. She poops, and I change her diaper. She stares at me with that inscrutable newborn gaze, and I gaze back. It all comes quite naturally.
Until I say, "So, I have a baby." And then it seems weird.
Last week, J surprised me by showing up on my doorstep wearing a pig costume. She and Gizmo had driven here from PA without telling me they were coming. It occurred to me that, a year ago, if someone had told me that there would be a photo of me holding my baby and standing next to J, who was wearing a pig costume, I would have thought it was surreal.
Incidentally, exactly a year ago, my mom died.
Today was kind of a rough day. But now the baby is in her swing, covered up with the pretty blanket with her name embroidered on it, and she's making faces while she falls asleep. I wouldn't trade her for anything, not even my mom.