Four years ago today, I was sitting in a hospital room as a newly labeled mother of two. It was a Saturday, the day after my son was born. And I was in a hazy, oxytocin-induced euphoria. As a second-time mom, I wasn’t bashful about asking the nurses to take him for a few hours during his first night alive. I knew having some rest was important for me, especially after a major surgery. And I knew how little sleep was ahead of me.

He’s Here

His birth was non-traumatic. He was a little bit early arriving at 38 weeks, but I was expecting to be sent into the hospital after having high blood pressure readings throughout his gestation. I knew he’d cooked long enough. And it would be safer for him outside my pressurized womb. I drove myself to the hospital, wiped myself down with Chlorhexidine Gluconate wipes, adorned myself in a lovely hospital gown, and walked into the OR. A little while after, his father entered the room, and it was baby time.

I stared at the lovely blue surgical drape and felt some minor movements. I heard the doctors having a hard time getting the baby out. I knew for the last month that this guy’s head was just sitting in my pelvis. Apparently, he wanted to stay there. With some tugs and grunts, he was finally free and immediately began to cry. It was such a beautiful sound. My boy. After a few checks by the doctor, they put him right next to my face. And almost as soon as his skin touched mine, he stopped crying.

Four Years Later

Not much has changed. For example, this summer after a swim, the same little boy laid belly down on a swing and slipped right off face-first onto the ground. His face had a huge scrape. He screamed and cried, until he was in my lap. Then he stopped. The people who saw were amazed. He was bleeding from his face but comforted in my arms. And while I know that might not always be the case, I’m grateful for each moment it is.

Happy 1,462^nd day of life son. I love being your momma. And I’m grateful for you.