A Distant Past.

I can recount it all...the shock of my water breaking at 4:00am, the confusion about whether or not it was time to go, the anticipation during the drive to the city, the anxiety of only being 1cm dilated at my initial exam, the discomfort of being induced with pitocin, the silent plea for an epidural (“I've known you for a year now and you're always smiling," Dr. Ferber said gently, "but I can see it in your face that you're going to need epidural.”), the panic when my blood pressure (and baby’s) made a drastic dip, the exhaustion after varied attempts to rotate the baby; and above all, the terror before pushing, the fear that anything could still happen.

The doctor’s signal. The nurse’s instructions. Each encouraging one-liner Julian could muster. “You can do it!” “You’re doing great!” “Almost there!” “Keep going!” All the pushing, wincing, crying, joined with the hectic hours at the hospital, and even the nine months of carrying her, fused together, leading up to that single moment our darling Evangeline Kyle, a vulnerable 6lb and 8oz and 20in, was laid across my chest.

It’s been said that when a woman goes into labor, she’s in anguish, but after the child is born, she forgets her suffering. And that is what happened when she was handed to us.  As we gazed upon her, the memory of any pain became a distant past.  The sixteen minutes, the long hours, and the nine months, overcome by a single moment of incredible joy I will never forget.

 

- M