My darling Morgan,
The moment I had the tiniest inkling that I was with child, I had a strong feeling that you were a little girl. The evening I told your father that we were expecting we laid in bed giggling, so ecstatic that you were growing inside of me. Both of us were pretty definite you were a girl, especially your father, he would have bet his life on it. It didn't matter either way, but secretly inside, I wished on my lucky stars that my little girl would come first.
When your daddy pulled you out of me into the water and then placed you on my chest, I kissed the top of your head for a long time, inhaling you, holding your tiny slippery body tight against my heart. An overwhelming feeling of complete bliss and relief washed over me. I'll never forget how moist and soft you felt from living inside me, never mind the way you smelled...heavenly. And yes, our intuition was right.
Giving birth to you was a rebirth for both your dad and I. It was the most empowering experience of my life, and I'd never take away all that whopping pain that came with every contraction and every push. I couldn't have predicted how that would feel, no matter how many mothers tried to describe it to me, but feeling your life force move through me made me feel more alive than ever. All I could do was breathe, breathe, BREATHE. Heaving in that breath to fuel the thundering strength I needed to release you into our world. I swear I sucked in every ounce of oxygen in that room. Shocking that there was any left for your dad and our wonderful midwife, Noreen. I just kept telling myself, 'Your body knows what to do Lane, just let your body do the work and keep breathing. BREATHE.'
When I was carrying you, your head was down for so long that your nose had been resting against my pubic bone for who knows how long. Your poor sweet button got a little smooshed to the side, so when you came out you had a little trouble breathing. When we brought you home, I slept right next to you with my head almost touching yours just to make sure you were always inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling... You made all sorts of funny sounds. Little snorts and grunts that made me nervous as heck, but you were ok, my tiny sleeping beauty.
Those first days seem like forever ago, and you're only turning one this month. Now you don't make a peep when you sleep. When I was pregnant with you, we used to take long soaks in the tub, where I would read you birth story after birth story. Together in the warm water where soon you would slip out into your father's arms at 3:27am on a snowy May long weekend, we would relax and read until my hands and feet were crazy wrinkled.
I would call your daddy in to sit on the toilet next to me and listen to those birth stories that spoke most to my soul. Both of our eyes would fill with tears from the raw elation of all these families that came to be in there own divine way. My hormones were his hormones. We were both drenched with emotion and excitement.
In the mean time, you would roll around inside my belly, as if to ensure us that you were listening and antipicating your own sacred birth... maybe practicing your yoga moves to limber up for your journey. I would tap the wet skin in between us and ensure you that your birth would be beautiful, and you'd come to us in the night, maybe at the same time I'd wake up in the wee hours for the last couple of months for what seemed like no reason at all- 3:30am.
I cherish those days. But you know what I love more? Holding you in my arms, against my heart, kissing your sweet soft head.