It started in the evening, a piercing contraction that started the momentous journey of your birth. Your father told me to relax, suggested I take a nap or watch a movie, as it would be a long night ahead. He even toyed with the idea of a bike ride. Nothing about your labor was like the six-hour “Super Sunday” class we took to prepare us for labor, where they showed a video of weary couples bouncing on exercise balls, engaging in crazy breathing exercises and husbands giving pain stricken wives massages. By the way, your father still owes me that massage.
Before this evening I wanted you to leave my womb so you could join us. I spoke to you, watched you move across my stomach. I wondered about you. What would you look like? Would you be funny or serious? And as quick as making a wish, your arrival was fast and exciting. No, I did not watch a movie and your father did not ride his bike. The contractions crept in and overtook the clock. We were on our way to the hospital. The nurses called the doctor on night duty. They told Daddy to attend to the car since I was 6 cm dilated. On his departure my water broke. I was pushing, and the delivery process had officially begun. In a blur I saw the doctor enter. I followed her instructions with one vision in mind: that I would finally be meeting you. And then I heard your glorious wail, announcing your arrival on Earth, and you were in my arms. I was overwhelmed that all my thoughts on who you were could now be seen, heard and felt. You are the miracle that marks my happiest moment.
Thank you, Luc, for introducing me to such euphoria. I am your protector and will do anything to ensure your happiness. You are loved unconditionally. Even when you urinate on The New York Times Book Review as I am about to turn the page, I can’t help but think that you came with a witty sense of humor on how to get Mom going.
Luc Came Into Our Lives |
Thank you, Luc, for introducing me to such euphoria. I am your protector and will do anything to ensure your happiness. You are loved unconditionally. Even when you urinate on The New York Times Book Review as I am about to turn the page, I can’t help but think that you came with a witty sense of humor on how to get Mom going.