Why I am crying...

I'm sitting in the nursery rocking chair, AJ swaddled and close to sleeping in my arms, and I am doing what new moms are prone to do, just staring at my child. We had a long, fun, stimulating day at Mt. Tabor's Adult Soapbox Derby with friends. Aleida slept fitfully in the Bjorn, but had no real nap. Consequently, she had a bit of a melt down when we got home. I am still surprised by the physical reaction I have to my daughter's cries. This connection I may never understand.

It took a while, but now we are rocking peacefully. Suddenly, I have tears running down my face. One splashes on Aleida's chubby cheek and she flinches, but does not waken. But why am I crying?

I'm crying because that is my default reaction to any overwhelming emotion. Too happy...I cry. Too sad...I cry. Too mad...yep...tears-a-streaming. It's inconvenient sometimes, but cathartic always. But which emotion is the most overwhelming to me right now... I don't know.

I'm crying because AJ is sleeping with her mouth slightly ajar, head tilted back, reddening hair askew. When I was a child, my family would take road trips. Without fail, my mom's turn in the passenger seat would result in her sleeping like this. We used to laugh at the predictability of her mouth falling open, her head lolling back and forth against the head rest. My daughter, born on my mom's birthday, named after my mother, looks like her in this moment and I can't help feeling squeezed by the closing of the generation gap between June, my beloved mother, and Aleida June, my dearest daughter. That they will never physically meet still pains me, but I am comforted by this connection they have that is greater than I am as the obvious link between them.

I'm crying because I feel as if my heart might explode with the maternal love that was so abstract and unknown until about 12 weeks ago. I have heard it said that the love you have for your kids is stronger than any other love in the world. To say that is not entirely fair, because it is not an apples to apples comparison. To say parental love is different than any other would be true, however. It is love mixed with a great and overwhelming responsibility to a small, helpless, dependent creature.

I'm crying because we have scheduled Aleida's heart surgery for September 10, and I cannot think about that fast-approaching week without anxiety. She is so small. Deep down, I know she will be okay. I am thankful she has a condition that can be fixed so she can lead a normal, vibrant life. But, I also know that when they take her away from me to the operating room, I will feel a physical, emotional schism that will not mend until I am able to hold and feed her again. Fortunately, she will not remember a thing. So though I am worried about her and how she will handle the procedure and recovery, most of my anxiety is selfish. I simply don't want to suffer.

I'm crying because having a child is amazing. Full of challenges, full of insecurities, full of changes, but all the difficulties are eclipsed by the love and wonder and beauty of this new relationship. And I know, from what others have told me, that is only gets better from here.