It takes me by surprise how much I love Ezra. He doesn't do anything to earn it, in fact he reduces my sleep, is the source of sore nipples, weighs on my arms so my shoulders and back can ache, he creates incredible smells and wees on himself, through endless clothes that I must wash. He doesn't talk to me, only looks at me every now and then, never kisses or consciously cuddles me, he doesn't buy me gifts.
But there's a deep, deep ache that I can't quite sense the bottom of, an ache of 'you dare to harm him and I will harm you', an ache of 'I will get up again, and again, in the middle of the night to calm you', and ache of 'may his life be long, God, may he outlive us', an ache of anxiety, 'he's so helpless and small, will he really keep breathing when I'm not in the room?'
I was expecting some sort of love for him, I'd heard parents talk of 'bonding', but it hits me deeper and harder, more earthily, than I'd known I was capable of.
And then when he actually does something cute - a smile, a coo... then the level of love is overwhelming!
All this love shows up how selfish I am, actually.
Having this deep ache for him doesn't result in immediate action and consistent action. My bed is warm, my eyes are heavy, my husband could go this time, couldn't he? I just changed him, can't he stay in his filth? I don't want to feed him here, again, can't he stay hungry?
Ezra becomes a task rather than a person, an annoyance encroaching on my time and comfort, a bargaining chip in place of cooking tea. My husband becomes my ticket to laziness.
What a contrast...
Jesus endured sleeplessness, backache, arm ache, suffocation ache, heart ache. Yet we remained people worth dying for in his eyes.
Now there's love in action.
