Another month has ticked by where I feel like I have somehow cheated the system because I was given the perfect baby.
It feels like I got home from the grocery store, after spending $15 to find out that I received $50 worth of groceries. I call the store, and they say, “Our mistake! You keep the extra groceries, you lucky lady, you!”
I’m so happy and in love with this baby, I almost feel guilty.Does everyone love their baby as much as I do? Did I love all my other babies this much? And I’m reminded that yes, they do, and I did.
“So.. are you done now?” they ask, abruptly bursting my baby bliss bubble.
Am I done? I think. Am I done loving a tiny human this much? Am I done smelling heaven at the nape of his neck every time I feel like it? Am I done squishing perfect human flesh, filled with soft, billowy, heavenly chub? Am I done being so very loved for zero reason or performance? Simply because I am me, and that is so extremely, terribly enough for this little baby angel/human. Am I done? The question feels insulting.
“Three girls and a boy, that sounds perfect, doesn’t it?” Mr. Miller more states than questions. And I agree, it does seem perfect. But is it? Can I close this chapter and be okay with the perfectness now? Will the perfectness and fulfillment of my family this size last? What about the next stage? Will they all love me this much forever? Will my womb ever stop longing for another to grow? Will my hip ever stop asking for the weight of my own growing baby to sit? Will my breast ever stop expecting to give and give and give? Will my arms ever stop reaching out to pull my baby into them? Will my soul be okay with never receiving another life through it? These babies of mine have been life, they have been answers, they have been God, and love, and truth, and purpose. These babies have been sometimes my sole source of happiness. If I stop having them, will I be able to continue life by myself? What will that mean for me? What will that mean for us?
As these thoughts swirl through my head in a ferocious emotional storm, the baby fusses. He’s hungry, and he clings tightly to me as I feed him. His paws kneed at my chest, his legs wiggle on my lap, his fingers tangle into my dangling hair. In this moment, I am every single thing he needs, and he is every single thing I need. And that is so extremely, terribly enough.
Maybe I can’t finalize this chapter because I don’t have to yet. Certainly he, and the heavens above, don’t need that answer today. So I’ll put those questions in a box and pull them out much, much later. Because I am in a love affair with motherhood in this stage right now, and the question of “maybe one more?” can dangle around and keep the magic abreast for a little while longer. ♥