Shock Therapy

The night before last Bella started going down at night with surprising ease. No patting and lifting and patting and nursing and patting and making sure there was not a peep or rustling nursing pad to be heard. I fed her, popped a nanuk in her mouth, and laid her in the crib. She was out. She looked so precious, I reached down and placed a hand on her chunky little thigh.

I can't explain the feeling I had at that moment except that it felt like an electric current was traveling through my fingers. I pulled back for a moment and looked at my hand, looked at Isabella, and put my hand back on her leg. The feeling remained. So I stood there with my hand on her leg, eyes closed and grinning like an idiot for far too long. I thought, What is this feeling? This is my daughter. She is beautiful. This moment is beautiful. I can't believe I get to feel this.

I knew there would be precious moments like smiling and cooing and crawling and walking and pooping. But this is a kind of connection I never knew about. It's a moment I never counted on. These happy little surprises make up more of parenthood than I had guessed. And people, it's sweety, schmucky, schloopy freakin' beautiful. I hope you get it.