sweeping generalizations told me i would fall for you the moment you were placed on my chest. it didn’t happen this way for me, i was kind of disappointed and surprised. i thought i would be beside myself with tears of melty, gooey love but you came out and i felt energized, awakened to my own body, and shocked.
we waited so long for you to arrive, i was starting to believe it would never happen, we’d never meet our little girl. the waiting game was a strange mix of static hours and broken plans. we kept hoping, but you had your own ideas. on december 1st, 43 weeks into pregnancy, i was scheduled for an induction at 11pm. we put it off for as long as we could, trusting your wisdom, but the doctors were concerned and so finally we obliged.
it was raining outside on that tuesday afternoon. the first truly cold day of the year. we stayed in, your dad and i. we ate breakfast, wrote emails, but i was tired. no contractions. i lay on the bed and watched an ina may ted talk on my phone. she spoke of birth without fear, she said horses give birth in twenty minutes and i found that unbelievable. soon afterwards contractions began, though they were far apart. we called our doula and she said it could be days. relax, watch a movie, go out to eat. i went back to watching the rain outside our bedroom window. contractions began to pick up and quite rapidly, daddy was timing them on an old receipt while i began to moan in tremendous pain.
i hardly remember getting dressed or walking down our brownstone stairs but i did and somehow we found our way to the car. daddy drove us, honking at everyone in the pouring rain and parking that old lexus in the ‘no parking zone’ in front of the hospital. he was worried, i was screaming. i melted to the floor in the waiting room, feeling the cold tiles against my back, as they prepared to admit us. i was moaning, wailing, and desperate for relief. i asked the nurse if i was going to die. i begged her to tell me the truth. she said, ‘no. you will not die. your baby is coming.’
your doula met us there by some miracle and helped me through the intensity of it all. words of encouragement, ice water, and loving touch. we went into the labor room and on all fours i pushed you out in ten minutes. your daddy was crying, the resident was amazed (your doctor was on his way), and i was in shock. 43 weeks of waiting and you arrived in three hours. they placed you on my chest and you found your way to my breast. they weighed you, stamped your little feet, and handed you to daddy. i was chatting with your doula and trying to make sense of our surroundings. i didn’t know you, or i didn’t think i knew you. i wanted to muster up all the love i could and direct it toward you but it drifted toward your daddy. he was amazing that night, he always is.
i am pretty sure i fell in love with you the first night we spent in the hospital together, we were alone. there were no private rooms on the recovery floor so daddy had to go home because of a bizarre hospital policy. we were left in a double but nobody ever came to occupy that second bed. the nurses tried to take you for this test or that but i insisted you stay near me. they advised me to ‘let her be’ in that plastic box. ‘she needs rest, you need rest.’ you remained in my bed with me.
i didn’t sleep all night, i watched as your chest rose and fell. i was completely enamored by your little everything. so perfectly formed, strong but delicate and vulnerable in the most beautiful way. at some point during the night, perhaps it was 3 or 4am the front desk noises softened and the night lingered. you opened your eyes and looked at me with intense curiosity. your eyes so bright, clear too. my heart melted. i knew you had arrived to be our teacher, to offer your own wisdom. i felt a sense of completion inside my body that i had never felt before. i was born to give life to you.
i shared stories and told you about your new home, it was ready for you and much better than this sterile hospital bed. i sang to you and held you close to my heart. just the two of us, the night melting away, the morning yet to rise. it was silent, empty in the hallways and so full of love in room 18. this was the beginning.