Every morning when V wakes up we bring her into our bed. This usually affords us another 20 minutes of snoozing, and sometimes (very rarely) she'll fall back asleep for a while. Most of the time though she nurses on and off, jabbers away and flops back and forth between the two of us, exclaiming, "Mommy! Daddy!" and usually smacking Greg a great deal in the face.
It's all incredibly sweet (even the smacking), but my favorite is when she puts her head back on my pillow with me and I can rest my cheek against hers. "Close your eyes," I'll say, and she'll do this funny frown-squint thing and then smile and check to see if I'm watching.
This morning I was thinking about just how incredibly close I feel to her, and how I've never felt this close to anyone, not even Greg. I'm constantly astounded by the bond between parent and child. There is truly nothing like it. It's not something I could have ever imagined before having her.
But whenever I find myself musing on this closeness I always realize that I actually HAVE experienced this. With my own parents. And then I'm amazed by how I don't remember those years, the ones like I have now with Veronica. My strongest memories of my parents take place when I was older, when I was independent and feeling very much like my own separate entity.
Oh, but how different it must have been for them. Because of this time that I have now with Veronica, I can't imagine not feeling close to her always. Not feeling like I know every fiber of who she is. And I have no doubt they felt this way about me.
It always makes me feel closer to my mother when I think about it this way. It makes me feel like there is no distance that can truly separate us, even death.