Last night while I nursed Cole, Greg and I managed to watch a third of a movie. Because we'd decided to set a regular bedtime routine for the baby, we stopped the movie to give him a bath.
Cole wasn't crazy about being undressed until we discovered that holding him under the heat fan in the bathroom blissed him out. So we gave him his first sponge bath right there under the fan. His body is so tenderly beautiful that I want to hold him next to my skin and never let go.
After his bath, Cole slept in two-hour shifts, feeding in between. This morning I was zonked. But looking down at him while he nursed, I felt utterly serene.
Later, I took Cole upstairs so I could finish watching the movie. I cried through most of it, dripping tears on him. The movie was a tearjerker, but I was also crying because I'm so full of joy at being given this perfect child. I thought about the thrill we'll have in exposing him to music, telling him stories of great people's lives, and catching bugs with him. Suddenly I was overcome with sadness that he won't be this exquisite, gentle baby forever. His growing up means that Greg and I will die.
I was a basket case today. My first crying jag started in the morning as I thought about my friend Susan, who's been trying to get pregnant for six years. It will be so unjust if she can't have this experience. Then I cried because Cole may never really know his grandparents if they don't live at least another decade. Sheesh. I have this new life to nurture, and all I can think about is death.