As my last post concerned what is arguably the most disturbing aspect of parenthood, perhaps it is appropriate to post, in bookended fashion, on the most joyful.
We brought home our newborn son five days ago. He is healthy and perfect. I am filthy and happy.
I will have to blame poor judgment brought on by the insomnia of manning a 24 hour milk bar for a brief sojourn into the well worn subject matter of writers far more talented by myself. The death of a child is meaninglessly tragic and unfair and I can't imagine to where or whom one turns for solace. Perhaps the only answer to the question "why" is not truly an answer but a visceral response - to love and love and keep desperately loving the children that we do have.
I think (and sincerely hope) this is the last time I post on this subject matter. While never forgetting, it is best to move forward and focus on the humor and joy of early parenthood.
For instance - I am not sure if I should admit this (and again will blame the insomnia) but I was a little shocked by the appearance of my newborn son. His face was purple and squished. Flame colored stork bites stained his upper eye lids and the lower lids were swollen shut by two thick coats of vernix. His nose appeared to have been flattened in order to better accommodate a large crop of infant acne (milia) that sat upon the wide tip. His cheeks sank below the level of his lower jaw, giving the appearance of an edentulous old man.
The last few days have revealed him to be a reserved little man who doesn't do much in the way of complaining. His emotional range seems to oscillate between boob? and BOOB! I know this range well as I have spent near every waking minute of the last five days staring at him in an almost spellbound fascination.
I was immediately, and continue to be, deliriously in love.