"Oma, did my tummy-mommy love me?"
Boo hasn't asked me. Yet. I don't look forward to it. I've thought about my answer, "I don't know. But I know I love you. Forever." But now I wonder.
Oh yes, there is what God intended. Then what happened in the Garden - that Eve will bear her children in pain. Then the quick descent - the twisting and distorting of what was meant to be: The bond of mother and child, reflecting the bond of the Father and the Son. Rent apart. A friend of mine said she felt like an alien was growing in her body. I've seen and heard other moms cry as their bodies decieved them - bloated, dysfunctional, their lovely legs growing purple webs.
Did she love her son? my son? Did she look into his eyes? Did she hold him at her side? Was she resentful knowing that keeping him would be too difficult to bear? She gave him to me - unknown me. Was she willing? anguished? relieved? She didn't name him. Why not? Was it too hard? Did she try not to care? Did she, in fact, not care?
Is it possible that a woman can grow a baby inside of her, see his shriveled little face and red clenched hands and not love him? If she were indifferent, did that brittle indifference get birthed from an anguished bitter heart, choked out by human weeds but still rooted in Eden?
Do I need to change my answer?