Holding Christopher at home in my apartment on the 1st floor of the building and wondering what I would do to protect him from "intruders" as I sat there fresh from the birthing process my own damn self, and figuring that IF he were sleeping I might fit him into one of his father's cast off shoe boxes in the back of the closet and that would keep him safe while they (the intruders) murdered me, but at least he'd be safe and out of harms way...
I know, weirdo, you are thinking... but at least I wasn't booby trapping the windows and doors. I was simply sitting there, holding that sleeping infant, uncontrollably weeping as he slept, at just how much (unspeakable, unfathomable amounts)
I loved him, and how I wasn't going to be able to protect him from everything, but I was going to very damn well try.
And, now he is more than 1/2 way around the world if you head East - if you head West, well then he is much closer...
And, how did I feel when I held John in my arms? I felt awkward, and anxious...
I held John almost a full 24 hours before I realized that I hadn't actually really touched his skin... save his lips to my nipples for nursing. I realized that maybe I hadn't touched John because I was afraid of betraying Christopher, were I to properly bond with this new baby and welcome him into my heart, I might be squishing Chris out. But, I knew how much I loved the 1st born, and I was already loving my second.
And, so, carefully and with full conscious consideration, I unwrapped John from his blankets and laid his mostly (save diaper) bare body against my own, with his head at my heart, and his body nestled between my breasts, and his toes around my navel, and I stroked and caressed him, as he slept and softly snored (mmhm, even little babies snore). And, I again cried at my ridiculous selfishness.
I held John and knew as I had always known that there was room enough for both in my heart.
To watch each grow has been an amazing adventure. They can be so different and yet the friendship they share, at times, leaves me sobbing for joy. They enjoy each other, they laugh, and have "in-jokes" and quote lines from movies and poems and songs at each other, and when they get angry with each other and they do, they seem to have room enough to forgive one another and move on. They are a continual gift, a continuing privilege, regular moments of bliss.
My two very different, very unique, very wonderful little boys, who've now grown to big and almost big men. I still can not protect them from "all things". I can not protect their hearts from aching, I can not protect their bodies from injury as I could when they were little (for the most part), I can not force anyone else to love them or appreciate them or value them as I do.
What I can do is love them and appreciate them and enjoy them and let them know, as often as they'll allow, just exactly how amazing I find them to be. I can encourage them to pursue their dreams, and acknowledge their talents and abilities.
And, so I try, and I endeavor, and I attempt the same.
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