by Edna Wallace, LMFT

What is it about baby?

Her stinky diaper?
No, not that.
Her 2am feedings?
No.
Her teething?
No,
Her crying and squirming,
Face red in pain?
No, can’t stand that.
 
Her banging her little
Hand on your breast
As she sucks away.
Yes.
Her smiling up at you,
Copying your faces.
Yes.
Her falling asleep
On your shoulder.
Definitely.
Her first words:
“Baba, mama.”
Yes, yes, yes.
Her crawling fast,
Everywhere.
Her pulling herself up.
Her looking way up,
Pointing a stubby finger
At the helicopter circling above,
Shouting:
“Elipter, Elipter”.
Definitely.
Her chortle…
Her full-throated laugh.
Yes, yes.
 
It’s pure joy.
It softens your belly,
It fills your heart.

It’s that bonding.
Indescribable.
Something…
Ferocious, terrifying,
Wonderful.
It’s a little being
Loving you
Because you’re mommy.
You’re her world.
And she is your universe.
You would do
Anything, everything
For baby.

But your daughter grows up,
She’s a teen,
Then a young adult.
Then a woman
With children of her own…
Delightful grandsons.

And then the unthinkable happens:
She gets sick—
Cancer—
Something terminal.
She’ll be dying young,
When the boys are toddlers.

You heart cracks…
Feels like it’s stopped.
There are no words.
Indescribable.

You’ll have her babies
In your life,
Carrying her memory
Forever.
But the pain is unrepairable.
You feel done.
Can you even go on?
That ferocious, terrifying
Attachment…
How is it possible to break?
You feel like nothing can fix the pain.

But you will live,
Live for them: the new babies,
And all else good in life.
You will live…
With a heart fractured in bits.  

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