Mad love

I’m discovering how scary it is to love someone so much.

In addition to having an easy pregnancy, a good birth experience, and a relatively smooth hazing with a newborn, I was largely immune to postpartum hormone surges. I had small moments. I got verklempt. I’d look at Parker and smile through tears but they were misty-happy tears. I never felt majorly emotional and definitely not depressed. In other words, I’ve been lucky.

But last night, I couldn’t stop sobbing. Big, snotty tears for hours. I have just two weeks of maternity leave left. Suddenly, these vast months of being at home with no outside obligations, just me and my girl cuddled on the couch, lounging on the floor, dancing to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (one of my recurring emotional moments is the line from “Hysterics”: “Flow sweetly, hang heavy /You suddenly complete me /You suddenly complete me” My throat aches just typing that), will, poof, be over. Never to be again. 

 Four glorious months of being with this little creature 24/7, her protector and provider. She, my reason for being. Watching her belly swell and her legs form delicious rolls. Seeing her smile and hearing her coo. Seeing her eyes light up in recognition of my or Andrew’s face. Kissing her fuzzy little head. Feeling her insanely soft cheeks. Squeezing those thighs and tickling her knees. Watching her lips pucker when she concentrates and her legs kick when she gets excited. She’s the best.

I don’t want this to be over. As cut off from the world as I’ve been, as physically and culturally stunted, as challenging as daily tasks could be, this time with Parker has been nothing short of magic. It makes me sad that it will be no more. She is just such an incredible little girl. So sweet and fun. Curious and cheeky. It seriously scares me how much I love her. But I guess it’s a good fear to have…

Paris on my mind

I’ve been thinking of Paris a lot these weeks. Along with the rest of the world, I was horrified, saddened and struck in the gut by the Charlie Hebdo terror attacks. Somehow Paris seems like the kind of place that’s immune to such ugly acts.

I’ve also been floored, on a personal note, that it’s been four years since I came home. Six years since I went over. Six years ago, I was packing and preparing to move to Paris. Incredible.

I also saw a House Hunters International episode (ah, the benefits of being at home on maternity leave! Daytime TV!) in which a woman was moving from Maryland to Paris. All the street footage made me pine for a visit, and a peek inside the apartments made me remember my own whirlwind real estate tour.

So while I’m clinging to my last days of maternity leave, and my head and heart are firmly here in Brooklyn, I can’t help but let my spirit drift across the ocean from time to time, to check in with the dream of Paris.