Sentimental torture

I must have a deep-seated need to burst into tears, because I put on the Dixie Chicks "Lullaby"  this morning, and 2 seconds in I was bawling. I first heard the tune on a photo montage someone had put together on the first year anniversary of her daughter’s adoption. It was so moving that I cried every time I watched it (and I couldn’t stop).

It’s easy in the day-to-day, especially my day-to-day lately with Michael in New York on business, to take Callum for granted. Between changing his diaper (pure torture, as far as he’s concerned), picking up after his destruction, and dodging his attempts to bite me, it’s understandable that I grow weary. But the other day I caught myself browsing through the digital files that substitute for my memories of Callum’s early days, and I was amazed. Who was this little, non-crawling, non-rolling creature that smiled up a storm and dazzled his mother with first laughter? He’s a little miracle.

A good friend of mine shared yesterday (in complete confidence) that she is 9.5 weeks pregnant. She’s cautious and concerned, as all of us advanced-age preggos are. But she’s also jubilant and excited. I wanted to tell her what a joy this child has been in our lives, but words fail.

The "Lullaby" song goes a distance toward expressing it, though, posing the question to the little one: "How long do you want to be loved? Is forever enough?"