The best part of the day–the very, very best–is when all three of us are in bed, two tablespoons laid up against the tiny teaspoon. Maybe we’re asleep or maybe we’re in that stage between dreaming and waking that I love. Maybe we’re wide awake and talking about how beautiful she is, how perfect, how many dreams we have for her. No matter what state we’re in, Francisco probably has twisted the top sheet and the comforter into a tight little tube that looks like fusilli, and I’m probably trying to unwind it so I can wrap myself in the heat he’s trapped inside.
I can’t imagine life without holding and being held.
It’s so delicious, this love sandwich, which keeps me in bed for hours, even when I know I need to get up and walk Penelope, or pay bills, or check email. I’ve missed and canceled appointments. because of it. Spent the whole day in pajamas without brushing my hair because of it. There’s never a point where it feels like enough. And the thought that it will ever end is really enough to make me crazy… which only keeps me in bed longer.
And some other thoughts on holding and being held…
Lots of new moms don’t want anyone to hold their babies. I do. I want Mariel to feel the love and warmth and kind energy of Nancy. To experience the joy Sharyn feels when she holds Mariel. To be passed from the arms of my mom to those of my brother, and then to Maggie, to Mama Sue and Mama D, to Maura and to Ami, to my godmother, and to Kelley and Bob, and to people I’m forgetting and to people we won’t see for a long time, like C.K. and my grandmother–even years, like Yi Jing–but to put her in their imaginary, distant arms. I want them to feel, like Nancy said, her “old soul.” And I want her to remember, someday, in that vague, hazy, primitive way of the earliest memory, how each of these friends and family members looked upon her with love and wonder and hope.
How could that not be anything but sublime for everyone?