on the night that you were born

“Why had no one told me that my body would become a battlefield, a sacrifice, a test? Why did I not know that birth was the pinnacle where women discover the courage to become mothers? But of course, there is no way to tell this or to hear it….

I wept and I yelled. I gave up all hope and I prayed. I vomited and my knees buckled. Then I began to push because there was nothing else I could do. I pushed and I pushed and I thought I would faint…

“My son”, I answered, dumbfounded, taking him into my arms.

Just as there is no warning for childbirth, there is no preparation for the sight of a first child. I studied his face, fingers, the folds in his boneless little legs, the whorls of his ears, the tiny nipples on his chest. I held my breath as he sighed, laughed when he yawned, wondered at the grasp on my thumb. I could not get my fill of looking.

There should be a song for women to sing at this moment, or a prayer to recite. But perhaps there is none because there are no words strong enough to name that moment. Like every mother since the first mother, I was overcome and I was bereft, exalted and ravaged. I had crossed over from girlhood.”

– Anita Diament, The Red Tent.

moo, i still do not have my fill of looking. watching you grow is my greatest joy. i can’t wait to see your deliciousness when you rise tomorrow, 2 years old, already. your future, and mine for you are in it, look bright my babe. on your birthday and always, i love you.

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