Finally. You are here.
I have been counting your toes all night. You have ten, and I do not know why this awes me but it fills me with so much joy – it does. I have been having nightmares that I would have a child; a bundled version of every one I have lost – which is why I keep checking to see that you only have one set of everything. I am not insane. Not very much. You opened your eyes and for a minute, just stared into mine. I have not stopped crying since. They had to fight me to take and wash you and I am glad they finally left us alone. Finally, you are here and my walls burst. It feels strange, this shedding away of layers I did not know I had. It would seem I have always thought I knew what love was when I didn’t really. If I had it all along, why do I feel like my heart has just started to breathe?
Forgive me for choosing not to push. My body has failed you before. I could say that I could not risk it again, but in truth, I was just tired of it all. I just wanted to wake up and have you here. Do not tell your people you were pulled out of me, let us keep it between us. Their knowing would only mean I have missed another qualifier for what it takes to be a woman.
Most women think about nothing but the relief; happiness of having their child with them. You are the girl that chose to stay. You will become a woman, and I find myself already planning what altar to sacrifice to so that you do not inherit your mother’s curse. Your father laughs – he, for one, thinks this is funny. The poor man had finally lost it. Dear Lord, still me enough to enjoy this moment.
You have unveiled me my little one; now I am no longer invisible. If it not a dream, I find myself wondering how long this will last, but you chose to stay; so I will want to hope. But now your father is here so I can sleep. Be here when I wake up. Please – stay.