Late yesterday afternoon we filled Duncan's blow-up pool and let him splash around in it. It was like...I don't know...baby crack. He loves that pool. Then, I gave him the water hose and wow. I don't think I've ever seen him so happy. And me? It was like Mommy Crack for me. I was sitting in a lawn chair, drinking a Coke Zero (that stuff is awesome) and thinking to myself, "this is one of those moments..." When our first son died, almost five years ago, I was certain that I would never feel joy again. One of the few clear memories I have from those black weeks and months after his death is of me sitting in a chair in my living room, across from my mother, weeping and saying I would never feel joy again. It's such a blackness...the death of your child...there aren't words that are sufficient to describe the pain and the hopelessness. I felt that way for most of the first year after Ziggy died. I thought of moments I would never have with him. Simple day-to-day stuff like having him on my hip as I cooked dinner, or having him next to me on the couch while I watched tv (I remember this very clearly, too, patting the empty space on the couch next to me, crying for him.) So now, when I have these moments with Duncan it is magical for me. Very simple things, like blow up alligator pools and having him on my hip while I cook dinner, and changing dirty diapers, and feeling his little fingers up my nose while I'm rocking him; they are magical for me. I soak up every moment of it and am so grateful for it. I thank God for every single poopy diaper and middle of the night cry. Every single one.
Late yesterday afternoon we filled Duncan's blow-up pool and let him splash around in it. It was like...I don't know...baby crack. He loves that pool. Then, I gave him the water hose and wow. I don't think I've ever seen him so happy. And me? It was like Mommy Crack for me. I was sitting in a lawn chair, drinking a Coke Zero (that stuff is awesome) and thinking to myself, "this is one of those moments..." When our first son died, almost five years ago, I was certain that I would never feel joy again. One of the few clear memories I have from those black weeks and months after his death is of me sitting in a chair in my living room, across from my mother, weeping and saying I would never feel joy again. It's such a blackness...the death of your child...there aren't words that are sufficient to describe the pain and the hopelessness. I felt that way for most of the first year after Ziggy died. I thought of moments I would never have with him. Simple day-to-day stuff like having him on my hip as I cooked dinner, or having him next to me on the couch while I watched tv (I remember this very clearly, too, patting the empty space on the couch next to me, crying for him.) So now, when I have these moments with Duncan it is magical for me. Very simple things, like blow up alligator pools and having him on my hip while I cook dinner, and changing dirty diapers, and feeling his little fingers up my nose while I'm rocking him; they are magical for me. I soak up every moment of it and am so grateful for it. I thank God for every single poopy diaper and middle of the night cry. Every single one. 
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