Before Eli was born I purchased a frame for his picture which says "When you fell into my arms Little Angel you slipped into my heart." There was no way I could have known how fitting it would be. Here I sit, ten days after the birth of precious Eli, and yet it is so familiar. My oldest daughter is at school, the younger two perched on the couch watching Dinosaur Train, me logged onto the laptop. It is a morning I have lived and re-lived almost since we conceived Eli, like slipping into a favorite pair of pajamas. I miss feeling him wriggle in my belly, I miss trying to fit the laptop on my lap. I told my husband I just can't win. When I came home from the hospital all I wanted was a smaller stomach and unengorged breasts. As they've both shrunk I've sobbed over the loss of those connections to my son, my reminders of his brief presence.
Our house smells and looks like a florist shop. There are beautiful flowers everywhere and it is impossible to enter our living room without smelling the sweet scents of orchids, lilies, roses and carnations. Soon, they too will die. However, we will keep them with us.