Good News

There is this fog of exhaustion that is making it almost difficult to see the page, but before I stumble up to my babe in bed, I give you this:

(and, I chuckle to myself at the concept of the "babe in bed", which ten years ago would have meant something entirely different, but now of course refers to the sweet, milky, 90-day old Fiona... I was just realizing today that the feeling I get in my gut when I catch a whiff of her is exactly the same way I used to feel when I had a crush on Greg and I would see him walking towards me across the Middlebury campus... that butterflies in your stomach, excitement and love and hope feeling-- so amazing how our husbands have to move on over to make way for the love affair with baby)

But, I digress.

When I used to see babies Charlotte's age, I called them missiles. They assaulted me from all sides, I could hardly bear to see them. As time went by the little blond girls her age used to pop out at me in 3-D, all the other children melting into a blur while the ones that might have been her wounded me with each breath they drew. That was then.
This strange new stage, new wave, has brought me to a place where a completely different thing is happening. Indeed, I am faced with girls her age every day, at 8:30 and 3:00 when I drop off and pick up my son at his classroom, which he shares with the first graders. So those first grade girls are there with him, and do you know how I feel?
I feel especially fond of them.
Somehow, they warm my heart. I love to see them, they look so sweet and wonderful to me and I like them. I like them. I like them and I don't even resent their parents anymore. I do feel the hope, and the urge, to someday share with them the story of my daughter who shares a birth year or even a month with their daughter. But I don't resent them, because somehow, it's not their fault anymore.
Time does make everything feel much more gentle, in so many ways.
Isn't this good news?