I just put her first batch of clothes in the wash.
It’s almost been a week since her birth.
I’m feeling it creeping in like a familiar song I’m trying to supress- that sad nostalgia that whispers how time is going way too fast and I can’t capture her face enough, her smell…I haven’t even taken a picture of her hands and feet because the weather has been so gloomy causing absence of natural light in the rooms.
As I was doing the wash, I could smell her scent from the blanket we used for her while we were still in the hospital. I almost didn’t wash it, stains and all, wondering if it would preserve her smell. But I know through the years, that blanket would only soak in odors of merciless time.
Every daughter I have, I go through this wreckage. After ever first week of their lives. After every first wash of their clothes and blankets. After every packing away of their newborn clothes. I can’t get away from it…