The weight of her

I had to take the challenge of writing about my favorite part of Zoe's early days. It is, after all, a baby shower for one of my favorite bloggers.

Plus there are some great prizes up for grabs. Mostly, it's a good opportunity for me to reminisce about a time, Zoe's first few weeks, that I want to remember, and remember fondly, as I get more and more used to the idea of going through it all again next spring. (Lord help me.)

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In the weeks right after Zoe's birth, it got very warm here in Pasadena. I was reluctant to turn on the AC, preferring to sit and sweat, with the warm, moist weight of tiny Zoe against my chest.
I studied the swirls of hair on her face that seemed to join her eyebrows to her hairline and wondered about her future need for forehead waxing. I listened to her snurffly breath, uneven and raspy and wondered when she would suffer her first cold. I cradled her against me in a sling and tried to wrap my brain around the thought that these floppy, spazzy limbs would some day run and grab and throw and write and hug.

I tried so hard not to wish for what she would be. To just sit with who she was, at that very moment.

I held her so close so often then. There seemed no other choice. She was another appendage. In the late night hours, I walked with her snug in a sling, singing nonsense 80's Bananarama to lull her to sleep, singing "It's a cruel, CRUEL cruel sum-mer" to keep me from falling asleep on my feet. In the dark early, early morning hours, I bounced on a ball with her in my arms, every rhythmic bounce bringing us both closer to dreamland.

These days she is so separate, even when it seems she's all over me, it's a crazed, flailing, gone-in-60-seconds moment. And those days of holding her endlessly, though it seemed it would last forEVER, are long, long gone.

If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can still remember the weight of her.... right... HERE.