The funny thing about having a baby that doesn't come home with you is the battle you have with yourself after. Am I mother? It's a silly question to ask because clearly I carried a baby for 9 months and I have the recovery to tell you labor was very real. And when I saw Max it became very real. He had green eyes and pale skin, the same shades as Scott, and he had black hair I gave him. He also had lashes so long you could ski off them, and he got Scott's nose, and I was so happy he didn't get my fat nose. I also remember his hand. Scott picked up his hand to make it even more real.
The other day I was putting away his things- the gifts I've received for him, his laundry, and toys piled up in his crib. I was pulling things out from underneath the rumbled sheets. I pulled out a cloth diaper I forgot to put away, I pulled out a cotton baby mitten, a congratulations card from a friend, and an already expired diaper cream (darn those organic products). For a fraction of a second, I thought I would pull Max out from underneath. It was crazy and I laughed about it, but really, instead of looking for toys to put away, I was secretly hoping I would find a baby. With him went so much of us and that includes my sense of reality.