It's HIM not me...

So BP worriedly tells me he thinks something is wrong with baby i. She's constantly "squinched up" with her legs to her chest holding on to her feet. She did this all night - he's so worried - Is she gassy? Is something bothering her back? Constipated? Etc. A light bulb went off in my head - it's him - not me (at least this time) who is utterly neurotic. She's discovered her feet for Pete's sake! That's all there is to that. If suddenly you saw two parts of your body you'd never seen or had access to before and you were prone to shove things in your mouth it'd be a field day, no?

I told my mom about it this morning and she said, "Well - he wasn't around with F when he was little so he's going through this all for the first time. Just like your father, when you all were kids he wasn't around and now... etc. etc."

... Huh? Where was he when F was a baby? Why did I feel like he was there every waking minute? I won't dwell on it - it's just kind of funny. We're all revisionists I suppose.

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Yesterday was M's funeral. We were talking when BP got home about how our perspectives have changed. Instead of this making us think of our own mortality, we both thought of our children and thought of M's parents. It used to be when things like this happened, we'd reflect on friendships and the whole melodrama of growing up and all the hardships we face. It's so different now... Once you have children you labor to make them happy - to make them engaged in life or at the very least content. It doesn't feel like it always, but it's not about you anymore. I couldn't help feeling more pain on M's parents behalf than on M's. How must it feel to have your child succumb to sadness? To have them one day decide it's time to die and to be powerless against that sadness in the same way you're powerless against a terminal illness. And if M had children, would things have been different? One of many questions unanswerable.