I am definitely aware of the huge wound that having a baby makes - in addition to the fact that your ya-ya gets so torn up. Before I got pregnant with Sam, I felt there wasn't anything that could happen that would utterly destroy me. Terminal cancer would certainly be a setback, but I actually though I could get through it. In a very real sense, I felt that life could pretty much just hit me with her best shot, and if I lived, great, and if I died, well, then I could be with Dad and Jesus and not have to endure my erratic skin or George Bush any longer. But now I am fucked unto the Lord. Now there is something that could happen that I could not survive: I could lose Sam. I look down into his staggeringly lovely little face, and I can hardly breathe sometimes. At the same time I feel that he has completely ruined my life, because I just didn't used to care all that much.
-- Anne Lamott, Operating Instructions, 60
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This is generally how I am feeling these days, apart from my ya-ya being torn up.
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