My little boy is almost five weeks old. It is already hard to remember life before he was in our lives. What did I think about? What was my purpose? It is all so blessedly simple now: Is he hungry? Tired? What can I do for him? I'm sure I will at some point miss my old life, but for now this is such a refreshing change. It's hard work, but a healthy, happy baby is such a tremendous reward. I can't even fathom the miracle that is his smile, his cry, his little body. Sometimes I feel like I am taking him for granted by not weeping for joy every minute of the day. Because really, that is what he merits. There is no way John and I made this little being on our own; some other agent was involved. Call it spirit or soul or whatever--it's just too beautiful and miraculous not to have some mark of the divine. I'm starting to understand my dad's assertion that you don't know what love is until you have a child. Or rather, you don't realize the depth at which love can take root in both body and mind.
We're starting to find a groove now. The first four weeks were a rocky courtship. Breastfeeding was excruciating for the first week. Sally the lactation consultant saved our relationship by showing us the right way to latch on, and giving me the magic "nipple shield." Before that, I was in tears constantly, fearing I wouldn't be able to feed him. Once we turned the corner on the feeding issue, everything changed. As we get to know each other, it all gets a little easier. I feel more and more relaxed. He rewards my efforts to adjust to his pace and priorities with a bit of predictability. I know he will be awake most of the morning; I can count on a long nap at dinnertime. In the midst of a lifestyle revolution, the rhythm is comforting.
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