Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


How slowly the border opens. There, the baby; here, the two of us (you, I). Forever (that’s how long time with him looks in retrospect: beginninglessly long) our baby, though in our nearest proximity, dwells in a monad that is lovely to look at, which we take pleasure in turning about, which we can also look into (but there’s almost nothing to see), which we foster and supply, touch a great deal, and talk to. Every effect of our actions delights and confirms us as much as it sometimes confuses and puzzles us. Seen in this way, it’s a one-sided business that belies, covers up, glosses over our love. We flow toward our baby, but the reverse current is much sparser and thinner than we would like to believe. But today! Our baby holds on to us, to our breast and neck, he pulls himself over to us and suddenly his body surface seems to be losing its innocence, a shy but perceptible welling up begins, an uninsistent, soft and warm flow in our direction, like a first response (and in fact, we now notice, it is something we have been waiting for with great perseverance).



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