I just read an article written by a woman whose baby died in the birthing process, after her water broke. Oh, God, the amount I cried surprised me. I’ve never been a crier (“never” being before I became pregnant with Lily). These tears came from deep within me from a place I hardly knew existed. To work, and love, and bring forth something—a child—that has been taken from you before its first breath must be the greatest tragedy a heart can know.
It’s funny; when I look at Lily, of course I love her—she’s gorgeous, funny, charming, fantastically chubby—all the things a baby should be. Then there are the moments when I am overwhelmed with this crazy passion for her—a sort of strange, devouring passion, like I want to put her inside of me and carry her next to my heart and never let go. I remember when I first fell in love with Tiger, wanting to put him on like a coat so that I would be completely surrounded by him always, that perhaps our atoms could mix and we would become one being, never to be separated. This mothering feeling is similar in intensity, only now I realize it is me wanting to be the coat.
This woman wrote the article hoping that in sharing it that “you will hold your children that much closer.” And I will.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
you can't say i didn't warn you ...
You did. I'm still glad I did (I am also glad that I wasn't pregnant when I read it).
Post a Comment