It's taken me 25 days to finally try to write some of this down. My words will do reality an injustice--as they often do--because in this case they are incapable of conveying how it feels to be your mama. Regardless, I have a moment to attempt this because you're napping next to my right hip after you fell asleep when I sang Over the Hills and Far Away to you. You started dreaming and I watched the look of repose change when your brow furrowed and your bottom lip swiftly curled into a frown. Then, just as quickly, your dimples and lips conspired together to form that beautiful smile of yours that I KNOW is not inspired by gas. Well not always, at least.
Here's the short of it: three days of working to get you here and two hours and fifty minutes of breathing, pushing and dreaming wakeful delusional dreams were nothing compared to how your emergence has focused the blurry lines of my life and become the heart of my existence. I have never heard a more beautiful song than your first cry. Holding your perfect slippery body for the first time and locking eyes with you have made me live.
There's lots of love in this world aimed right at you. I'll spend my life giving you all of mine.