Salamander is born. A perfect gorgeous boy. I went into active labor 24 hours
...ago was probably the word to come next. Unsurprisingly I haven't been able to find time to write since his birth day.
I feel I can't kiss him enough - that any microscopic space of skin not touched by my mouth is enduring a small failure of mine to find and cover it with soft lips and moist breath. I have urges to audio-record the tiniest coos and squeaks he utters so I can listen to them when they've morphed into new language.
He is changing already, at ten days old and I, already think, "Ten days? How can it be?" Time has never passed so quickly - especially remarkable because I have spent so much of it recovering; sitting or laying down - wordlessly craning my neck so that my eyes may drink more of him in.
I love the downy fluffiness of his hair after its dried from a bath. I adore the wide grins he shocks me with in his sleep. The light fur on his back makes him velvety and the soles of his feet are like cool silk. I would not hesitate to use my own mouth to clean him or ease a stuffed nose if it I thought it were needed.
As he and I learned how to receive and give milk I gave myself temporary stress blisters on the edges of my fingers as I sustained uncomfortable positions for sum totals of hours - I thought I needed to adopt a specific posture for his sake, no matter the results to me.
[The Heart and Mind]
I have repeatedly wondered about parents of multiple children - Is is this amazing every time?
For the first time ever my reason and my passion are working in unison. My reason rests - smiling - as my passion does a spring lover's dance on air singing all praise she can find words for and laughing her fool head off when she can't.
I know about the speed of time, yes. I know about the unique wonder babies inspire. I know these urges are not new in the world and I don't care if I'm singing a song every parent already knows the words to. I'll sing it loudest right now and repeating all day, if I want. I am in the most vibrant love of my life. Every day it penetrates me a little further, for if this love tried to enter me all at once I would probably burst like some New Year's confetti popper.
I'd be a floating mass of brightly shredded Shana - laughing like a hyena, sobbing like a sentimentalist, singing like a crooner, a song bird, a torch bearer all at once in a wild cacophony of pure universal bliss.