I can think again. It was like my body took it all to make this little girl. Most noticeable were the physical manifestations of this invasion, but my brain activity seemed numbed as well. Now that she's here, I can think again.
I titled this post "My Hazel" because, like a good friend wrote in a recent post, blogs are by nature self-indulgent and this is my place to be that, for, especially lately, there is little room for self-indulgence in my world.
Sigh...make that a super-sized "sigh" with a side of fries. This morning my parents packed up their helping bodies and drove back home. This morning I was leaning over the counter soaking my boulder breasts in two bowls of warm water getting ready to nurse the baby...this baby, who has no idea how many tears and smiles have been shed on her behalf in the five days she has spent living. This morning Craig and Seth left--one to preschool, one to work. This morning was the first time I was left alone with my thoughts (since Lucy has yet to become the stunning conversationalist we anticipate). This morning it's just the girls--a weepy trio at that. But right now it's quiet and I found a poem off the bookshelf that puts into verse the indescribable richness and complexity that Hazel ushered in on her pink coattails.
Love set you going like a fat gold watch
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
I'm no more your mother
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind's hand.
All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.
One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square
Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.
"Cow-heavy" I feel. Hazel is mine--I savor even those otherworldy, fatigued-laced, midnight moments, with her safe in my arms: my Hazel.