Warm Bodies

Well it’s a stinker in Eastern Ontario this week. Daniel’s sweaty baby body, newly risen from his bassinet, is lying beside me in bed, our new morning ritual. Not the sweaty part, though he often wakes up pretty warm from his sleepy cocoon. It is delicious to feel our skins touch, to snuggle and lock eyes and pretend, truthfully, that all is well in the world. That I did not just sleep train him, a success fed through tears and determination. I am still heartsore, but proud of us both. I know it never ends, but Mr. D, you know you can do it now! And, of course, so do I. Other than typing this, we are luxuriating in this precious, decadent moment out of time before the galumphing ball of big brotherly love soon comes tumbling into our room. Ben has been melting us all by saying “I love Daniel” a lot these days. He is rather physically demonstrative with his bro, mostly sweetly with hugs and kisses, sometimes roughly, even pinching him or pulling that fetching tuft of hair atop his baby head (it is temptingly long…). We scold him, but it won’t be long before they will be tumbling together, learning each other’s boundaries, learning how to be brothers and friends with all that entails (on hopefully a more level ground!).

Speaking of warm bodies, I have been lately reading the book with that title by Isaac Marion. We saw the film too. You know, the age-old story of beauty and the beast, a young Zombie man who falls for a pretty Living woman, set in a post-apocalyptic world about to be transformed by love. Sounds hokey, but truly it is a lovely book. Not in the banal, saccharine use of the word. For a book in the horror genre, where half the characters are walking corpses, it is lovely. Marion writes with a poetic hand. I just read a section where “R”, the paramour, is eating his new love’s ex-boyfriend’s brain (bare with me!) and relives the boyfriend’s memory of being born. In my hormonal state, and because it is beautiful, it has stayed with me, the baby’s first impression of “Her”, the soft goddess, enormous, whose voice he heard trembling through the walls all that time. See? Lovely. And these days I can just relate well to zombies as I knock into everything from being tired, grunt a lot, you know. Daniel, vibrantly alive, grunts back, his baby way of saying, “Hey Mama Bear, I want to eat your nose”, or “curry colored poop is running up the back of this charming outfit you chose” or “how about you stop typing in bed and eat MY nose!” Go for it, sweet baby D, just not in the zombie way, k?

E

Love letter to my sons

Little one, you are sleeping upstairs, swaddled in the bassinet you will soon outgrow, your chest softly moving up and down. Only babies breath so deeply. You are having a really good nap and my heart pitter patters, for truly, sleep is a gift. What occupies your dreaming mind? Do you swim in a sea as blue as your eyes? When I look into them, I am struck each time by the intense personhood of the you looking back at me. You were two cells and now you are you, sitting in your bumbo chair, sucking on your tiny perfect fingers, smirking at your big brother throwing chickpeas everywhere. I am grateful for your need of me, though the responsibility can be a heavy load, grateful that so much peace and sustenance and holiness can come from my body. I know it can be hard on Mummy that she can’t feed you from her own. I know when she squeezes you and showers you with kisses, when she wears you, walking and rocking your sad, sweet self to sleep, that she is feeding your spirit. Where did you come from baby D? I watch my family’ history flow through your genes, as your body grows, as your temperament unfolds. People ask me what’s different, being your bio -mom. Mostly I just feel so lucky to have made you, to have carried you, to have birthed you. I am happier in this family, like I belong more, like things are balanced. You make me happy by just existing.

And oh my big boy Ben, you have so much to tell us! How the world has opened up now that we know what you’ve been thinking all this time. It is endlessly interesting to talk with you about what kind of pajamas tractors wear, what neighborhood kids are getting on your toy bus, how the little shih tzu at daycare was sniffing your best friend Elliott. It is such a pleasure to roll with you on the bed as you shriek with laughter at the peek-a-boo-tickle game you invented, to roll snakes out of playdoh and feed them from tiny bowls with even tinier spoons, a precious treat to say goodnight with you snuggled in my arms to all the animals in the tree mural on your wall. We have had our differences, like any two people in relationship, and you know I can be tough. I think though that we have each others’ respect. Please know that you have mine. I really appreciate how well we share space, in a really peaceful, present way. You have a sensitive, gentle self my sweet boy, and that can be a burden to carry in this hard world. But mostly it is a gift, quiet watcher, becoming an ever braver adventurer. You bring so much tenderness and thoughtfulness to your living. Your small hand on Daniel’s smaller cheek is so precious. You made me a mother and a parent, and you changed my life forever. I endeavor to forever deserve you.

I love you both more than words can say. Thank you.

E