Once you were born, your Dad was on a mission to get me the things I occasionally enjoyed - enjoyed very much - but could not eat while pregnant. These included sushi, oysters, beer, and Scotch.
As evident from the pictures taken at the hospital, we celebrated your arrival with sushi. When you were four days old we went to Perla's for oysters and beer. This was our first social outing together. We asked to be seated outside and had some oysters as we enjoyed the strangers' gazes and complements on your cuteness. Your Dad made the observation that I looked very proud of you. I didn't think about it until he mentioned it, but he was right. It was the weirdest thing. I couldn't figure out why I was so proud of you. You looked very cute to me, but so do most babies to their own parents. Plus you were just born, and you haven't accomplished anything yet. So why was I, and still am, so proud of you?
Everywhere we go I want to show you off and tell people "hey, look what I have, look what I've made." Is it because you came right on your expected date with no complications? Because you grew to be the perfect size, although you had a single umbilical artery in stead of two? Because you automatically knew how to latch on and eat despite all the horror stories I read about the difficulty of breast feeding? Do I interpret all of the above as proof of your survival skills, and thus, I'm proud of your strength and ability to live? Maybe because you are ours and we chose each other to make you, so you embody the things we view as special about each other? Maybe it is all the potential I see in you, and automatically imagine it realized? I don't know. I wish you could see yourself smile and laugh; with your toothless mouth. Even your eyes smile.
Mommy.
No comments:
Post a Comment