I can't believe she's already twice as big as she was when born. Almost.
In the morning we get up and she sits in her bouncy chair and we just make each other laugh for about an hour. It's part of my schedule now, and every little sound she makes, every joyful smirk, is like cleaning out some soot from my heart. It's so wonderful to love her.
I love Otto when I love her. When I see the beautiful blue veins under the skin of her forehead, I think of him and the wonderous veins I followed with my fingers, trying to memorize them. I tell him I love him too.
There is a beautiful painting in an article I read in Mothering Magazine, and a memorable day when I bought it because I decided to let myself be excited about wanting to be a mom, let myself prepare and plan, and it felt so freeing and satisfying. It was January 2007.
She was a first time mama and noticed her baby stopped moving after the water broke. They did an ultrasound at the hospital and found that the baby's heart had stopped beating, and she had died. She was in labor and gave birth to her daughter, knowing it was the hardest thing she'd ever have to do, push out a baby who had already gone. She and her husband spent the day holding this baby, talking to her, singing to her, and then had to let her go. I cried and cried reading this article.
It seems strange now that it was part of my decision to open my heart to really being a mom, this article. She had gone on to have 2 more children by the time it was published, and I read it over and over again after Otto left.
The painting that opened the article is of a mama nursing a baby in one arm, and in the other arm, under the ground, she holds another baby, and a tear falls down for that one, a drop of milk falls for the baby who is alive. She holds them both at once, and doesn't let them go, and it means so much to me that someone painted this, someone understood this, that the mothering keeps going for this baby that has gone to heaven.
I've been feeling this lately, that I hold both babies, that I love both of them so much. Luna brings up my love for both of them, and her sweet body makes Otto real again, and makes me love him and miss him so so much.
At night I need to go outside to the tree by our bedroom window and talk to him, talk to the moon, feel the earth, my connection to a deeper place, a place to give my grief to. My friend Jula reminded me of my need to do this, and it is so necessary, so helpful.
And in the morning, I will get a straight hour of laughter and silliness. I am so excited of the months and years to come of this love. And I will always miss doing these very things with Otto, taking care of him, seeing who he would be. I hope and hope and hope that in some way and realm, I will get to talk to him and hold him and see him again. Maybe that includes now.
