The time when I feel most naturally a mother, like I have been meant to do this all my life…

is the moment when I’m holding his little head up in one hand, so we are face to face.  He looks at me quizzically (don’t laugh, there is no better word to describe it) and starts to squirm.  Suddenly the spit up comes launching out, landing on my shoulder or in my hair.  It is very warm and wet, and would in previous years have grossed me out, but in this moment causes almost no alarm.  I am wearing a loose tank top and no bra, so the easy solution (once baby is relaxed and finished dribbling) is to remove the shirt and head straight for the washing machine where his clothes and my clothes go in together (along with some other dirty baby items, of course).

And somehow the more disgusting things give me the most pride and contentment.  I am here to soothe and comfort, but mostly FEED day and night.  It’s an important job and I enjoy it.  Today, anyway, I enjoy it.