I held her swaddled body close while swaying back and forth. It all came back. Those motions and the soft murmurings (not really saying anything at all, just letting that beautiful baby know you're there) that happened so naturally when my two were new came back in a rush while cradling this perfect little girl. She fussed a bit and I rolled her over so she was facing the floor as I patted her back. She sucked her pacifier for all it was worth until her whole body relaxed into sleep. Turning her just slightly so I could see her delicate (tiny!) features I was so grateful for the opportunity to hold her for those precious moments. It felt so familiar and yet so distant. Distant from my life of independent, active, wiggly, outspoken toddlers.
And then I felt a little robbed.
Because I should be able to have as many of those perfect babies as I darn well wanted to.
Cancer is a jerk. The worst kind of jerk.