A few hours after that little reverie, I was jolted from sleep into this strange, sudden alertness. I sat up in bed, still bleary, and felt and heart this tremendous popping sound as my water broke. It was one of those feelings that you can't really describe but I knew, instantly, that this was it. I woke Daddy, told him that it was time, and then began making preparations to leave for the hospital. I took a little bit of extra time to get ready and feel prepared for the day; I wanted to enjoy your advent as much as I could. I had wanted to labor from home, to ease through the stages, but having my water break meant that that process would have to happen at the hospital. At last we packed up and headed in.
The next several hours passed rather predictably. I labored on my own for much of that time, attempted a viewing of Everything Is Illuminated and lots of other distraction and relaxation techniques, and then finally succumbed to the promise of pain relief through epidural. Dr. Ono came in sometime in the afternoon and asked if I felt ready-- and I did. I really did. And I felt sure that I could speak for us both. We were more than ready to finally meet this person who had been so much a part of me. He coached me through the descent and at last, you made your entry into the world.
Your cry was strong and clear, a sure sign of things to come. Dr. Ono held you up and said, "She's here! It's a girl!" and with one movement, you were up on my chest, your heart beating against mine. We sat like that for the longest time, Daddy huddled over us, and I stroked your hair and your back and said, over and over again, "Hi, baby." That was what we had called you--"Baby"--throughout the pregnancy, and it took a while to realize that you were a girl, a daughter, and all that that would bring. After much pleading from Daddy I finally let you out of my arms, and then he held you tight, too, and rocked you back and forth, lost in a little world of his own.
The moment that I remember the most fondly from that day came a few hours later. Daddy had left to get some food, all of the nurses had left, and it was just you and I for the first time. I held you, and rocked you, and sang The One Who Knows and a few other songs that seemed appropos of the moment. At the end of the song, you sighed this tiny little sigh and snuggled into me, and I remember thinking that I couldn't believe how much love I felt for you. You had been growing inside of me for so long, this theory of a person. But now you were here, and real, and the love that I felt for you was so incredible. The proverbial "they" of the world say that you don't understand how much you can love a child until you have one of your own and that always sounds so trite. But the truth of the matter is that you don't. It's like anything else in life. Until you've been there, it's all just a concept.
The wonderful part about parenthood, I've come to realize, is that the reality is better than anything that you can conceptualize. Starting from that moment in the hospital, it's just been one crazy beautiful moment after another. There have been hard times, certainly. You've gone through growing periods where we've sat back and said, "OK, what do we do now?" And when you're sick, you become another creature entirely and I just hold my breath and wait for my happy baby to come back. But the sweet, peaceful Chie that I cradled in my arms that first day is still very much a part of you. You charm everyone around you with your smile, your giggle, your ready wave. Your growth and change has been rapid, precocious, and a joy to be a part of. It's been an amazing year. I can't wait to see what's coming.
No comments:
Post a Comment