Just got home from a visit with Jane, the new baby. Amazing! Her fingers are so long and perfect and her eyes, huge almonds with gigantic pupils surrounded by indigo. It feels so good to hold a squirming baby - especially at this age when they still like to be held horizontally and close to the breast.
My friend worries about me. She worries that I am sad because of Jane; because I can't have one of my own. And I am a little. But it is a sort of bittersweetness, this sadness. I love my life, alone, with my husband. I love the time I get to spend with my niece and nephew, the role I get to play in their lives because of my freedom from parenthood.
And I still have that ache. Can't get rid of it, even after all these years of knowing that I'll never be a mommy. I think the ache, though, has become a bit of a friend to me. It gives me character, it makes me compassionate. Really, I wouldn't want it to go away. Knowing loss is a good thing.
Review: The Night Masquerade
1 day ago