Real time would make those shadows change and deepen quickly, as the sun drops out of the sky, but the stripes of light linger and we take in this new life. A part of us never leaves this moment. We feel gratitude, hope, amazement, and bewilderment that the math is so wrong; this child is one part me, one part him, and 100% unequivocally Joey. He has wrinkly feet, velvet hair, long legs. He is quiet, warm, and soft.
It is 6:52 PM and this moment washes over me again. I spoon you, bewildered at how fast you've grown. You're warm and soft and quiet. I do a checklist of positive affirmations. "You're sensitive and strong and smart, Joey." And you add your own, "I am funny." I hope that this time together is enough to undo all the times I screamed "NO!" to you today. You hug your moose as the sun sets.
Time keeps circling back to these moments when the light is picture-perfect and we all feel vulnerable together. Glittery particles hang in the air.
