Empty

I've been sleeping on my side out of habit from when I was pregnant.  For some reason last night I took up my ol' mainstay of sleeping on my back.  I surprised myself after I was situated, looking up at the ceiling, because it wasn't premeditated.  So I found myself laying there...in bed...on my back...with my hands situated just so on my belly.  Except this time they weren't able to carress a round, swelling surface of tight skin.  Instead, my hands felt enormous and my belly felt so flat and void underneath.  My skin, so thin and floppy.  It felt as if I could deflate what little was left inside...like, I could push down until all the air left and I could feel my spine underneath.  My thoughts immediately drifted to our son in the next room, so peacefully sleeping.  The feeling was a little sad as I, for the first time, realized how separate we now were.  He in his crib, me in my bed.  Completely separate beings...in separate rooms...falling asleep at our own times...dreaming separate dreams.

I think I'd been looking at him for the past six weeks as still a part of me.  His skin was my skin and his blood was my blood.  I'd look at him and see a tiny being built by cells from my body.  And though that all may hold truth, there is also truth in that we are no longer one.  We are two.  And I no longer breathe for him.  He breathes on his own.  

And so I felt a little sad...and a little empty as I lay there last night.  Sad and empty, but in a "matter of fact" kind of way.  I wasn't upset and I certainly don't want to go back to being pregnant again.  I love that he is separate from me so that I can look at him and see him smile.  It just happened to become a reality for me as I lay in bed...on my back.