When I let my mind wander in the quiet of my dark bedroom, as I rock my sweet babe, I become convinced that our babies must be made up of little slices of our very own souls, how else to explain how so very familiar he is, how much I feel I've known him all along.Maybe I know him because he is part of me. Or perhaps I knew him before in another life. Perhaps we are souls reunited after a long separation. As I sway him to sleep, his head under my chin, I wonder if I promised him that I'd find a way to bring him to me, even if it was difficult, or painful. Or did he reassure me, that he would always be there waiting? I wonder, as I look at his little helplessness, who really needs the other more.
It seems obvious to me that he is mine, and that he was supposed to be mine all along. Sometimes, I let myself believe there is no other being created who was better made to love this tiny person.
