I remember the day you were born so clearly. It was only six months ago, but I know without a doubt that I will remember that day vividly for the rest of my life. It was a Sunday evening. Your dad had made a comment to me earlier that day, “I hope you go into labor tonight at 5:00 p.m. right after the Chiefs game.” And as if he had predicted it, my water broke at 4:30 p.m. We called the doctor, and she told us to make our way to the hospital. So I got ready, which (to your father’s disapproval) involved curling my hair and putting on makeup. We headed out the front door for the last time as a twosome.
We got to the hospital, and the nurse checked us in. We were admitted and taken to our room. My labor could not have gone smoother. Everything progressed so naturally, and once I got the epidural, I was able to relax through the night. Then the pushing came. Five hours of your head pressing on my tailbone. I couldn’t get you out on my own so the doctor made the decision to use the vacuum. She gowned up, and several nurses were moving around the room getting ready for your arrival.
All of a sudden, it seemed really real. Tears rolled down my cheeks, not because I was in pain, but because I was about to meet you — I was scared! A few more rounds of pushing and you came out. I remember the feeling of relief, but I was totally dazed. It took me a few minutes to come back to reality and realize that you were on my chest! I grabbed you with my hands and held you tight.
The next few months following your birth were hands down the hardest and most emotional, yet most gratifying, time of my life. I have never felt such highs and lows. I can remember the first event that sent me into an emotional tailspin. One of the staff brought us the forms to complete for your birth certificate. Your birth certificate! You were now this little person with an identity. I could cry now just thinking about it.
We were discharged from the hospital. We strapped you into the car and off we went into the world, officially as a family of three. Your dad and I would spend the next two weeks slumber partying on the couch with you in a bassinet. I can’t tell you why we did not set up in the bedroom, other than perhaps the days and nights blurred together and it was easier to be camped out in one place. One of us was always awake to watch you. It was complete paranoia. You were this overwhelmingly tiny little thing that we now had to protect at all costs.
Eventually, we stopped sleeping on the couch. We began to adjust to our new normal, and things got easier. We have witnessed so many of your milestones already in just a few months. You smiled, you made your first cooing sounds, you started reaching for objects, you rolled over, you started to crawl, and you just said, “Mama.”
You have redefined our lives in a beautiful way. The things that mattered to me before you were born have disappeared and been replaced with something so much bigger. I use to define much of my success by career and monetary achievements. The instant you were born that changed. I feel so incredibly fulfilled by the most basic human connection. Holding you and loving you makes my heart so full.
By making me a mom you have given me the greatest gift I could have ever asked for.
Featured Image Photo Credit: Katrina Harris, Wild Tribe Photography