I ponder this as my precious Baby Loquacious sleeps on me, her tiny frame curled into mine and her face semi-nuzzled into my breast. I know she can hear my heartbeat and smell my distinct pheromonal scent, and I know this reassures her as she dozes.
I remember my own childhood, and how good it felt to have my mom comfort me in her arms on those days and nights when I woke up from a scary dream, or puked up from a queasy tummy, or felt hurt by that meanie at school. There was something so natural and right about snuggling up close to her on the couch or lying on her lap; I could fall asleep there as a kid and even as a teen. Her warmth and her scent were familiar to me and overwhelmed me with ease.
I wonder when the bond breaks, or if it really ever does. Even now as a grown-up, I feel so much better when my mommy is around to take care of me. On those first few sleepless nights when I was raw with emotion about being a new momma, it was my own mommy's hugs and reassurance that made it better.
And now, as I feel my baby's tummy pressing in on mine with each and every breath, I am assured that even though I might mess up sometimes as I try to raise her, that same bond that she and I share, much like those shared by mommas and babies throughout the centuries and like the bond I have with my own mommy, can never really be broken. And this knowledge, this truth, liberates me.