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That dried-out lump sat in my baby's belly button for days, preventing me from bathing her and sparking much marital discord: "Fold the diaper down! How could you forget to fold it down?!" I also had the privilege of dealing with a stump infection. (If you've ever sniffed around, wondering if there was a dead mouse somewhere on your newborn, then you know the joy of that particular experience.) So I was startled when I found myself mourning a little after the stump was gone. And yet it made sense: It was the last sign of the bond that my child and I had shared for nine (long, excruciating) months.
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