happy buddha

He stretches like the Happy Buddha. All belly and smiles. Arms over his head. Hands turned in. God, I love him. I felt so lost when he was in my belly. I had no context. No clarity. No grounding.  I feared. I held fear in my womb. In my heart. In my smile. I lashed out. I turned in.

He might die. I would think. No, he will die. What if I love him too much? What if I love my children to death?

We all die.

But this death I had in for him contained suffering and knowledge and certain insanity for the rest of us. I would know he was dying, and not be able to stop him. He would know he was dying and ask me for a help I could not give. Replaying Lucy's death in my head was like watching a child fall off swing in slow motion. Every time I ran in vain, unable to reach her in time. And then I would think if he doesn't die, I am breaking him with my anxiety and worry and absolute unwavering fear. He will be broken.

He has a long stretchy life ahead of him. He runs and hugs and stretches like the Happy Buddha. I mention it again, because Buddha is his doppleganger. He nuzzles into my neck, and smooches me in a long dramatic MWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAmen. Kisses and nose rubs and arms twisted.

I am in love with you, Handsome.

He squeezes my face, and plants on solidly on my lips. I could get used to this. The girl climbs me too.

"She's my Mommy too, Thomas!"

He screams and nudges his sister. Points at her face. "SHE is driving me crazy!" He seems to articulate in one long whine. I took videos of them yesterday. One of them was him just bugging the shit out of his sister. This is what having a little brother is like. I want to show them when they are in college, when they have children. I should have intervened, but I was entranced. They are so lovely, even when they are annoying each other.

Later, when we are alone, I lift him on the table, and he kicks his legs out. I tell him that he was once in my belly. And he shakes his head.

Doooooh.

Yes, Little baby. My big boy. You were right here. (I point to my belly.) We always talked when you were in Mama's belly. You are made out of sparkling water and frozen berries, and every time I drank Orange Juice you moved for me. I called you Thor.

TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRR!

Yes, Tor. I called you Tor. Everyone called you Tor. Some still do. I wanted you so much. And when you came out, you were so happy. You fit perfectly into our family. I asked the doctor if you were okay because you didn't cry. And then the doctor flicked your heel, just like this, and you cried and cried. And the doctor said, "Yes, he is okay. He is just happy."