Three Minutes Later

I have a new theory on reincarnation. By "new", I mean new-to-no-one-else-but-me. I present a brief, and ambiguously misdirecting, introduction to my idea on life after life.

Birth.
Death.
Life.

I know I was alive before I became who I am now. I am detached from those memories though. The best way I know to describe the feelings I have about my life, before my son was born, is to say that it's like hearing so many stories about who I was that I feel familiar with that person, but so completely detached that it may as well have been someone else. I felt the same way about the first eighteen years of my life, during my pregnancy. After my son was delivered at the hospital, even those significant eight months faded away. I was the first in a series of myself and my childhood friends to have a baby (only because my son was born prematurely and a mere few weeks prior to Jennie's little girl). Due, partially, to the fact that my friends and I were all having babies within less than a year, I recounted my pregnancy, labor and delivery countless times. I feel a connection to that period in my life, but less vividly than even the day after my son was born.

The day my son was born I lost all selfishness. With that burden lifted from my soul, I became the person I am today. My thoughts and concerns centralize themselves strictly around Richie. Every part of my life is devoted to him. As, I feel, it should be. In no obligatory way, I feel blessed and very honored to be a mother. The one trait I have acquired, which may not be so desirable as the others, can only be described as judgemental. At least, I feel that I am judging those that do not necessarily give wee ones proper care. When I examine the animosity I feel towards neglectful care-withhold-ers, it comes down to a protectiveness over all innocence. I have always been maternal and nurturing, by nature. I might be making excuses for behavior I don't care to admit I indulge in. Either way, I find it despicable when those who should be protecting their young, do not. Since I have become a mother my standards for myself, as well as anyone with children, are progressively strict. She said I would one day, and I now understand what my mother meant when said she loved me too much.