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Monday, April 27, 2009

One month

(As much as I love this idea I cannot claim as my own - I totally copied it from Dooce.com Ever since I first saw her blog I loved that she wrote her daughter a letter every month to tell her what she's been up to and what life was like for those four weeks. Now that Asa is here I feel more than ever that I want to be in the moment with him, that I want to remember every smile, every diaper, every precious second that I hold him to me. I have raced through most of my life thus far. Speeding through childhood to be a teenager then skipping that unceremoniously for the wild world of adulthood. I've rushed relationships, jobs, even this pregnancy. And now, now I want to slow it all down. Now I want to be there, truly be there, for every moment I can. So, that is why I'm going to white letters too, every month to my son. Starting now, with month number one)

Dear Asa,

Asa. Asa, Asa. Your name is still so new, so foreign on my tongue. And yet it slips out of my mouth as if lived there for ever. Much like you - your warm body, your searching eyes, your lips that just learned to smile. It's all so brand new, so novel, so fresh. And yet some part of you has lived in my soul for as long as I can remember. It's as if my heart has been holding a space for you for all of my twenty-four years, reserving the most special of chambers for the immense quantities of love that I have for you. It is a chamber without walls, for my heart swells to infinite proportions to encompass this love, to hold all that you are within it.

You are one month old today, already so very big. 8.5 lbs big, 20.25 inches big. A mighty little man. This month has been one of small miracles that feel larger than life. Just over four weeks ago I thought I was doomed to be pregnant forever, each morning waking up, feeling larger than when I fell asleep. Each day waiting for some pang, some sign that you were coming, that you were on your way. And then one night it just happened. A tightening of the stomach, an aching of the abdomen in rhythmic waves. A pressure in my belly. Contractions. 10 pm they began on March 26th, your due date. We stayed at home as long as possible as I waited for them to progress. I was in and out of the bath, sipping wine, walking our halls and gripping bed posts as your father diligently counted the minutes and seconds. "OK!" I'd shout from down the hall. He'd watch the clock as I breathed heavily, not in pain truly but struggling through this very new sensation none the less, until I sighed with relief "It's done". At 3am we called the midwife and headed to the birth center. This was it, we were on our way, and so were you. We drove in the dark silence of early morning that is more like the middle of the night. I continued to breathe and found it hard to do anything but as the contractions washed over me in waves that were increasingly close together. Your father managed to get us there in less than 40 minutes - usually a nearly hour long drive. And it's a good thing he did too. When the nurse checked me at the birth center I was already 9 cm dilated and closing in on 10. Fast. I gripped the rails of the bed as the nurse prepared the room for delivery. I was in such an altered state at this point, so far beyond the realms of reality, that I was hardly aware of her movements, or anyone else's for that matter. I hit a wall and had to push, I was conscious of nothing except your father's voice and Julie, the midwife. The most intense sensations I could ever fathom, somewhere near pain, bordering on unbearable and most certainly out of this world, I breathed and breathed and pushed and pushed. Before I knew it I was aware of your little body moving through me, slipping out of your warm cocoon and into this world. Three pushes and you rushed right in, no time for waiting - you were here! Fifty-five minutes after arriving at the hospital your life outside the womb had begun. March 27th, 2009. Complete and utter awe ensued. And continues to this very moment.

You father rocks you gently beside me. Your eyelids slide slowly over your still blue eyes (I wonder what color they will be?). You are happy, sleepy, peaceful in your dad's embrace. I fall in love with him all over again watching him become your protector, your teacher, your guide. His love for you is palpable. It emanates from him in waves, shimmering in that darkness as he keeps me company during the 4am feeding, radiating in the sunshine as he changes your diaper for the third time in as many minutes. His devotion is complete. He is father. He is dad. And he is yours.

I thank you today, for choosing me to be your mother. I have never been so honored, so blessed in such a thing. I accept this challenge with every bit of me, every scrap of my being. I promise to love you wholly and truly without exception, without question. I promise to give you all that I can, all that I have. I promise to improve myself for your benefit, I promise to be everything that I can, to help you to be everything that you are.

You are new, and so am I, so is this mother that I have become. Every day is one more under the belt, one more a shared experience of learning. And every day I am more certain of this new role I have accepted.



Rich + Susan said...

There are no words...except this: Lovely.

Anonymous said...

You must save these astoundingly beautiful words for Asa to read when he gets older.He will be extremely humbled by your infinite love for him and his father. He is truely blessed to have you by his side. God bless you sweet lady. And an early Happy Mother's day to you!!!
Jean Rodolfo



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