Monday, June 20, 2011
I lift you up onto my shoulders, and you wrap your tiny, fat fingers into my hair. As we move towards the not so towering trees, you squeal and wiggle. My ear is pressed against your chest, and when you go silent in wonderment at sunshine through the leaves of a branch, I can hear your heart. It occurs to me as I listen to that small, steady sound that I have not heard your heart beat since I was in labor, and they pushed the Doppler against my abdomen to check for safety. Already I feel closer to you, remember that this heart once beat inside my body. A tiny gesture of life each time I heard it. A reminder that you were there and a live. Inside me. Now you are out of that warm dark womb and out here in the big world. I feel helpless to protect you sometimes. Weak with the fear that something could stop that small rhythmic sound. I hold you closer with my ear pressed to that chest, and banish the fear with small, semi-formed prayers. I consciously move my thoughts to the celebration of life that you are. You are a joy bringer. A life saver. A series of moments captured in the flesh.