Wednesday, May 20, 2009
This photo is perfect because it shows me getting eaten alive by my child. I am both in pain from his sharp teeth and fingernails and in rapture from the love. My face is both beautifully smiling and grotesquely grimacing. You can see my wrinkles. I am embracing the great joy of my life - my baby, right outside the door on Stanford campus where I am currently taking a Lit class that makes me want to go back to school. My last baby is weaned, and I vascillate frequently and dramatically between giddiness (from the freedom of never gestating, birthing or nursing a baby again) and grief (from the sorrow of never gestating, birthing or nursing a baby again). My body has done its sacred work and it's over now. I am sleeping through the night again, running early in the morning with friends, volunteering at the kids' school, going out to my class and girls' nights and dates with Erik in the evenings... I am as happy as I have ever been. And yet I ache every day and have to fight the urge to sit Stone down when he tries to walk. I can't wait for him to be old enough that we can all go on all the rides at Disneyland, but I still cry every time I think about him not nursing any more. Why is it so complicated to be a woman?