Motherhood

“Although you are so wrinkled and your face is still so pale,
And the only song you seem to know sounds like a shrilling wail,
When you are here before me, finally, I feel complete.
I've waited so long, sweetheart. . . at last, we finally meet.”

And that was what it was. A recognition of the deepest part of me. Through the anxiety of an emergency C-section. Through the uncertainty of premature labour. When I first beheld my wizened little baby, I knew my life had found its destiny.
I lift my grateful heart to the heavens. In thanks to the God who designed me for motherhood. For I was born to give birth. I was nurtured to nurture.
His name is Marc. And in the two and some months since his arrival into this world, my life has been awash in the innumerable hues of maternal emotion. Love and despair, care and concern, fear and joy. All inspired by this little package of toddling wonder. And I marvel. At Nature’s mastery. In crafting a creature so perfect. A symbol of the coming together of two people. So evident. In his eyes, I see his father. In his voice I hear my own. And yet. So uniquely himself.
What will your future be, my son? How will the world look upon your person?
I wonder. I worry. But then I remember. Marc’s life is God’s gift to me. And so, it stands to reason. His living is my thanks to God. My daily iteration of gratitude. From the time I awaken to his sleeping countenance. Through every moment of his mischievous, endearing day. Until his baby hand closes around my finger and his eyelids gently flutter shut. Good night, Marc. I look forward to tomorrow with you. And I can’t help but smile.