Someone else's baby

I went to a baby shower tonight for a friend who I met in California. Our paths have crossed again and are about to uncross, as they once more move on before we do. She recently gave birth to her second child, a mere 14 months following the grand entrance (or exit) of her first.

This tiny baby was just perfect. Her skin had a slightly ruddy newborn cast to it, her mouth was delightfully puckered in unconscious nursing motions, and her fingers were delicately spindly and gorgeous. At 9 days old, she still weighs slightly under 8 pounds and appears to be the size of a scrawny cantaloupe.

I got to hold her for several minutes at the party while every other lady in the room laughed about their messy, hilarious, life-altering deliveries. I held her cradled and then tried her in my favorite newborn position: curled in a lump on my chest, right above my heart. Newborns fit just so perfectly into hands and arms and on chests.

I savored her velvet skin and her newborn smell, the fluttering movements of her skinny limbs governed by a very immature nervous system, and the yawns that seemed that they would allow me to peer straight into her wee lungs. She was warm, soft, and absolutely beautiful.

And then it was time to go. I handed her back and was briefly overwhelmed by relief that I got to enjoy that sweet little creature, and yet I get to sleep aaaaaaall night tonight with no guilt. I smiled. I felt sympathy for this poor woman who would have to get up every 2 hours to feed her slightly jaundiced baby, deal with painfully engorged mammaries, and somehow care for her two kids who are all but Irish twins.

I've done my time. I've lost enough sleep. Tonight just confirmed all over again how grateful I am to never again be pregnant. I'm going to snuggle into my nice, heavy blankets and snooze the snore of the well-contented mother who has moved beyond one phase of her children's young lives.

I'm sure I'll once again lose sleep once they start driving and going to parties. But that's an entirely different blog post.