On the morning of February 16, 2008 (just one week ago), your dad woke me up to let me know he was going to go get tea and a newspaper. He said he wanted to let me sleep because I looked so peaceful, and I kissed him goodbye and rolled over, feeling so content. My life seemed so perfect and full. I intended on sleeping in, taking our dog Deuce to the dog park, and then spending the day with your dad around the house and getting dinner at our favorite restaurant in Manhattan. After receiving nice compliments from my colleagues on my abilities and accomplishments before I started leave, I had had a peaceful week away from work. It was already sunny enough to feel the hope of spring fever in the not too distant future. It is hard to believe I didn't know you yet.
The day did not go according to plan. My water broke shortly after your dad left -- a sign that you were ready to join us. I called your dad and had him come back from his morning tea run. We drove to hospital -- he was nervous and I was calm, which you will come to learn is often the case. But by the time we got to the hospital and he got to socialize with the nurses and my doctor, your dad gained a peacefulness and security I had never seen in him before. He wanted to be my rock that day, and he certainly lived up to his goal.
The daylight hours passed rather uneventfully. I had contractions, but they were not too painful at first. When they became painful, I got the epidural that numbs you from the pain. Your dad and I spent the day talking and laughing, with each other and the doctor and nurses. I watched a movie on television while he ran to take care of Deuce and get a bigger memory chip for our camera. Then, at exactly 8:35 pm, you started your travels out into the world. I pushed you along with all my might. At first, I just wasn't sure that I was pushing correctly. Soon enough, I knew I was doing it right, but I became scared I didn't have the strength needed to get you all the way out. It hurt, I was scared, I was tired, and I wasn't sure I could do it. But your dad kept holding my hand (and one of my feet, exactly like I asked him to), telling me I was a fighter and could do this. The doctors and nurses reinforced to me that you were right there, it would just take a few more pushes, and that I could do it. One hour and twenty-three minutes later, you made your debut. That I almost instantly forgot the pain of labor speaks only to the infinite joy that you brought to your dad and me.
When you arrived, your dad was holding my hand, looking at my face, making sure I was okay. When he heard you cry for the first time, he bent over in tears. The nurses and doctor later joked that they were sure that your dad cried much harder than you did upon your arrival. It hit him harder than anything ever has and likely ever will. He fell in love with you before he even saw you, as did I. As soon as I felt the warmth of your little head making its way out of me, with the curves of your little body following, you had me wrapped around your finger.
At 9:58 that night, you arrived exactly three weeks earlier than expected. Six pounds, 12 ounces, 20 inches long, ten perfect fingers and ten very long toes, a beating heart and a set of lungs you were unafraid to use -- a small package that introduced us to joy that cannot be weighed or measured. At 9:58 that night, I realized that the "perfect" life I had previously known was far from perfect. There had always been something missing. You.
Although your dad cried with happiness right away, my tears didn't come until later that night, as I lay there in the hospital room -- your dad sound asleep next to me -- processing what just happened. I had a son! He is living and breathing after growing inside of me. I am his mom! I couldn't wrap my mind around it without it expanding my heart. Since you arrived, I've shed many tears. But the emotions that accompany them are unlike any I have ever felt before. I am in awe at how much I love you and in awe of your existence. You overwhelm my heart and permeate my core in a way I never expected. You make me love your father even more -- he loves you like I do, and you bring out a part of him that he didn't even know existed and that I have always, unknowingly, longed to see. He usually doesn't like when I cry, but when when he sees these tears come, he smiles. He knows the tears are only helping me feel a love that is too large and powerful for dry eyes. He now knows that sort of love, too.
Neither of us can get enough of you. We watch you as you sleep, and feel giddy when you are wide-eyed. We smile at each expression that your little face makes, and melt when you firmly grip our fingers. When people say that you are beautiful, it makes us both beam with pride. But we know that your real beauty has not yet been revealed to us. It is in your smile, your laughter, your quirks. It is in your mannerisms, your kindness, your humor, your intelligence. It is in all those traits that we will come to know a little bit every day of our lives. And your beauty, Kai, will always be captured in my and your dad's heartbeats.
Love,
Your Mom
