Friday, November 2, 2018

Me Without You (One Month)



It’s been a month with you now. And somehow, I can’t remember me existing without you. It feels as if my identity has shifted to define itself in a way that includes you so completely that the idea of you not being a part of me before now seems foreign. I think of birthing you and it somehow feels like an old an experience that has long defined me despite only being a month ago. I think of mothering you and I have that same feeling: Loving you has somehow always defined me. You fit into my identity. You fit into my forever. You fit into my eternities — a part of my yesterday and tomorrow, and inseparable from my own perception and definition of joy. You’re a part of my forever and make our family feel whole. It feels as if you’ve always been a part of the plan and I thank God that He has included you in my story. 

You’ve been a mild-mannered baby and we joke you’re more Moore than Cruz — you have more chill than fire, at this point. It took a month for you to have a truly fussy few hours. Otherwise, so long as your fed and cuddled you are happy. Some things I never want to forget about you during this stage: Your long fingers you like to have by your face; that you try to suck on your fingers at the same time as nurse; your head full of soft, curly hair; that when you’re crying a good head rub can calm you down; that you don’t seem to mind who is holding you, so long as they have a heartbeat; how you look just like a doll — so teeny and always curled up; the sound of your newborn cry sounded like you were screaming “huh-la” over and over; how as happy as you are to be held by anyone, when you start crying to be fed you calm down once you can see or smell me or when I pick you up; how relaxed and peaceful you were when we gave you a warm bath; how your sister adores you and you don’t mind her suffocating affection; how content you always were in the sling; how you arch your back and your little booty sticks out when you stretch; and how you pop your arms straight up after I take you out of a swaddle.

This last month has flown by in a blur of cuddles and breastfeeding. I am enjoying living in the moment, trying my best to cherish my time with you because despite my fatigue and sore body, I am all too aware how fleeting time is and how quickly you soon won’t be my baby. I thank God that though this time is fleeting, we have an eternity of time to fill with new moments. 

I love you, beautiful Gwendolyn. 



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