When your children are very young, you cradle them in your arms and get down on the floor for tummy time. You hold them close to your chest and their clear perfect drool drips onto your face and into your mouth. Bubbly and gross yet somehow not disgusting spit up sits on your shirts and hardens in your hair. In and out of the carseat you buckle them, in and out of their clothing and diapers you change them. All day and all night. As they get older, that presence is needed less, and you exhale in short relief of labor. Their independence begins to flourish, and the space between you grows. It’s nice to have “more time” to do things without them needing you so “close,” although the next level of remarkably fulfilling exhaustion is just around the corner. Your duties no longer physical, but mental. It is four million times as difficult and terrifying and you will find yourself wishing so desperately to wrap them up in a very small blanket again. “Baby fever” is our way of craving the innocent tenderness that leaves when the legs grow long, and the mind becomes susceptible to infiltration by filth in the world. We hate it for them, our shields no longer cover the size of their bones. And so, it is very important that you find new ways to get in their vision, so that when they talk, you can hear. And when you speak, they feel nothing but warmth - be it precaution or joy - like the womb. 8x10 Digital Print118# Pearl White Cotton Red Print single sided Printed in St. Louis, MO
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