Just having fun writing

John and I stepped onto the hexagonal gray cement block road, with only a backpack, and two woven shopping bags. We could still hear Levi crying for me but knew he would calm down soon enough.

While I love being a parent, being alone again--even just to go shopping--becomes an almost sacred moment. For the next hour or two, we shed the titles "mommy" and "daddy" and we were simply ourselves.

Lucy had commented rather profoundly on this assumption of a new identity that accompanies the birth of a new child, saying, "when you pushed me out of your belly, then Becky became a Mommy?" Exactly, you incredibly wise then four year old!

One second in the dimmed hospital room I was just me, with no indisolvable attachments. A few seconds later, and after a seemingly endless battle with my own body, a small body was curled onto mine. An immense love and an equally immense amount of fear filled me as I realized the weight of what I had just done. I brought a child into the world. I could never again be just Becky because now a piece of my soul would forever be walking around outside of the confines of my own body. A part of me now lived in her, ready to take on new shapes and forms, ready to carve her own way in life.