A strange thing happened today. I was looking through pictures of E while pumping, and found myself missing her newborn self. There is a picture of me in my hospital gown, gazing at her as she looked vaguely back, mouth agape and tiny head resting on my shoulder. I miss those otherworldly days, when she looked like a gentle extraterrestrial. More alien than human, barely fitting in the crook of my arm.
I miss her tiny hands resting between my breasts while she fed, which was about all she could do back then. Suck and cry. She couldn’t smile, or focus on much. Her unused hands actually collected lint between its fingers and got smelly like feet do.
Now she is practically a different person, and I miss having a newborn. I actually felt myself longing for another one. I am turning out to be one of those women whom a few months ago I would have diagnosed as mildly psychotic.
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