Mush! Mush!

Boy

Every night, before I place Jude in his crib, I rock him in the quiet darkness of his room. He lays his small head against my shoulder and his body becomes sleep-heavy and I rock back and forth. Every night I weep. I weep because he is my son. I weep because he is small, because the blonde wisps of his hair tickle my neck, because his small hands rest on my shoulders. I weep because he is mine, because he will grow, because his body will unfurl into that of man's and lose its softness. Motherhood, it feels, is a slow goodbye to the first softness-to that first wonder of ourness, to that first wild pang of self becoming other. How to embrace it?

How strange it is that Jude has a will. That he goes here or there, that he wants to eat that (mango!)or not that (peas!) (at which point he spits and spews whatever it is all over me). I wonder if God is ever astonished at the divergence of his childrens' wills--if Adam's choice to fall is not still a dark wound in the heart of God.

I never knew I could love so deeply or feel such ache at the passage of time. When did my baby become a boy?

Three years ago today

I married this hunka-hunka burnin' love.

best. decision. ever.