"all my mistakes have become masterpieces"
Today I sorted baby clothes and put away the too-smalls. Finn's growing so quickly - he's only a month and a half old, but he's already wearing some of the 3-6mo. clothes. Truth be told, though, the sizes vary so much from brand to brand that there's no telling what size he really is. Small, in one sense. Large, in another. He's about 12lbs, big for a baby so young. What can I say - my breast milk is amazing.
It is a little sad to put away the tiny clothes, but I'm going to keep them for the next boy.
The temperature has dropped, and I'm afraid it won't be going back up anytime soon. Just two days ago it was 74, but today it's 37.
Good thing I have a baby to wear, to keep me warm when I walk the dog. Finn and I create so much heat pressed together that after the walk I have sweat rolling down my back. And is generally fast asleep, basking in the mommy sauna.
There's so much intimacy between Finn and me. I didn't know about the mother-child intimacy. He derives food from my body, and finds comfort at the breast, smiling and napping, looking up at me. I trim his fingernails with my teeth, carefully running my tongue over each tiny finger to find the offending scratchy nail. I kiss the folds in the depths of his neck. We nap together, my large body encircling his small body, the familiar warmth just enough to keep him asleep an extra hour. It's beautiful, and savory. It's delicious.
I'm going to give knitting another try. I pulled out last winter's unfinished scarf last night and knitted a few rows. I resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to completely unravel the scarf and start over. Then again, yesterday was that sort of day - the emotional meltdown sort. Knowing better than to give in to the destructive voice. I kept knitting from where I left off in January. I'm going to pursue this hobby - I want to make socks! And sometimes I just see the most beautiful, the softest yarn, and I want it for mine. I should learn to use my sewing machine while I'm at it. Then I could really be the perfect wife.
So it's true - my clothes don't fit. I can't yet slip on one pair of pre-pregnancy jeans. I'm still wearing maternity jeans. Don't get me wrong - I'm not fat. I know that I'm lucky with my body size, even post-pregnancy. But we all know that no matter what size we are, if that size goes up a couple notches, however temporary it may be, it doesn't feel good. It feels like failure, and shame, and heartbreaking sadness. At least, that's how it feels for me. And then I cry, because I'll never, ever, look like I did when I didn't know how good I looked. Even if I get back to 112 pounds, my hips will stay wider, my thighs larger, my waist thicker, my breasts - we won't talk about what will happen to them. I know this doesn't ultimately matter - the body is simply a vehicle for the soul, but at the same time, it's a temple for the soul.
This is true - no matter how big my thighs are because of motherhood, my heart's size has increased so much more.