7/16

This is an entry I wrote on Wednesday, 7/16 and was unable to post due to lack of internet. Enjoy!

Sometimes I watch Josiah and my insides burn fiercely with such pride, such love, that I think I might catch fire. He is fascinatingly wonderful.

Whenever there is loud music, he thinks he is supposed to sing along. During Jonathan’s concert last weekend and again tonight during the camp’s worship set, Josiah hollered “Ahh!” intermittently, expectantly, hoping to contribute appropriately. It continued, his chest vibrating with controlled, loud shouts, for the duration of the music, and then he was quiet again.

Yesterday I counted 3 remarks from strangers regarding Josiah’s hair. Today I lost count. People are always surprised that we haven’t cut it or styled it. It is what sets him apart from all of the other cute babies of the world. I secretly hope that it doesn’t settle down. The craziness is becoming on him.

My period still hasn’t returned, and with no other marker to assure me, occasionally I find myself validating my non-pregnant state by how normal I feel. I think I am sick in the head. For instance, the other day I grinned to myself when I enjoyed dried pineapple—something I couldn’t bring myself to stomach during my pregnancy. Two weeks ago, Jonathan looked at me in disgust as I sat down pleased with my dinner choice—black beans and rice covered in feta cheese. For a second I reminisced on the crazy concoctions of pregnancy, and then I took a mental tally of other non-pregnant markers: still can brush teeth without gagging—check, still can eat meat and various other foods without feeling repulsed—check, still like sweets—check. 3 to 1, non-pregnant wins. Perhaps my breastfeeding amenorrhea should come to a close to save me from such insanities.

Now when I come home from work, Josiah spots me, and a flood of relief washes over his face. He quickly looks joyful and impatient as he crawls toward my outstretched arms. He clamors up my body and embraces me with the affections of a long-lost lover…and I love it. It feels so incredibly wonderful to have him express his love for me in ways beyond, well, those of a new infant. And, it feels good to have him want to see me just as much as he wants to see my breasts, which is what he was more impatient about up until now.

Today I was reading in my novel about an eight year-old girl and her mother, and the eight year-old said something intentionally hurtful to her mother. I remember resonating over that part, realizing that my sweet baby will one day do such things. I’m not ready to even entertain these ideas. I am ready to say: Mom, I’m really sorry for all of the little things I said that I know temporarily broke your heart. It’s appalling this whole free-will thing. A little glimpse into the deep and wide love of our Heavenly Father, and how often I leave Him to nurse wounds inflicted by His child. The glory and pain of parenthood weave together so neatly.