Monday, September 19, 2011

independence and pacifiers vs. the thumb

Someone fell asleep while she was playing today. This has been happening often, lately... the whole "I'll do it myself" business. About an hour before this photo was taken, P was a real crab. I tried everything to soothe her: nursing, rocking, walking around, diaper change, even the paci. Nothing worked. So I put her down on the ground, on a blanket, under her wooden mobile toy thing. She rolled around, chewed on her strawberry rattle, "talked"to herself and within five minutes she was asleep. I noticed she was sucking her thumb. This has been a new thing. She sucks her thumb when she's upset and it usually puts her right to sleep. I'm not sure how I feel about the thumb-sucking. I sucked my thumb for way too long and ended up with teeth issues. We've tried to give P a paci but there are very few that she likes and now that's she's discovered her thumb, and that it's always attached to her and instantly accessible, I'm not sure if she'll choose the paci over her thumb. Some people seem really anti-pacifier. I don't really get that. Babies need to suckle...beyond the nipple (boob or bottle). I figure if not the thumb, it's the pacifier or vice versa. I'm just not sure which is far as eventually getting baby to stop.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

the only thing you remember is your life

los nacimientos (births)

we will never have any memory of dying.
we were so patient
about our being,
noting down
numbers, days,
years and months,
hair, and the mouths we kiss,
and that moment of dying
we let pass without a note -
we leave it to others as memory,
or we leave it simply to water,
to water, to air, to time.
nor do we even keep
the memory of being born,
although to come into being was tumultuous and new;
and now you don’t remember a single detail
and haven’t kept even a trace
of your first light.
it’s well known that we are born.
it’s well known that in the room
or in the wood
or in the shelter in the fishermen’s quarter
or in the rustling canefields
there is a quite unusual silence,
a grave and wooden moment as
a woman prepares to give birth.
it’s well known that we were all born.
but if that abrupt translation
from not being to existing, to having hands,
to seeing, to having eyes,
to eating and weeping and overflowing
and loving and loving and suffering and suffering,
of that transition, that quivering
of an electric presence, raising up
one body more, like a living cup,
and of that woman left empty,
the mother who is left there in her blood
and her lacerated fullness,
and its end and its beginning, and disorder
tumbling the pulse, the floor, the covers
till everything comes together and adds
one knot more to the thread of life,
nothing, nothing remains in your memory
of the savage sea which summoned up a wave
and plucked a shrouded apple from the tree.
the only thing you remember is your life.

-pablo neruda

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

The First Of Many Firsts

For some time now Little P has been attempting to roll. While on her belly, she would kind of just teeter back and forth. She'd grunt and seem frustrated that she was stuck. Today, she rolled over for the first time! It was surprising. I was standing there watching her teeter and grunt and then all of a sudden, she rolled. I screeched "yaaaay!" and she kind of just stared at me looking shocked and confused. She did it again at least three other times. She rolled to the right and the left. Very exciting stuff.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Three Months

This weekend Piper turns three months old. Part of me can't believe that this much time is already behind us. The other part of me is reminding myself that she is still so new -- to us and to the world. There is so much of herself that she has yet to discover and we're still getting to know each other.

This picture (above) has already become a favorite of mine. It captures her goofiness perfectly. She is, for sure, half of me. 

This past month Piper's personality has really started to show itself. She is such a funny little lady. Lately, like two days ago, we noticed she has started to laugh. Real "ha ha ha" laughs. Earlier on, her laughs were more of a "haaaaaa! haaaaa!" burst of air. These laughs now are quick little gusts of "ha ha ha". Really cute. Really funny. Last night, she was wide awake and laughing when "bedtime" rolled around. As I read her (four!) stories, she was there beside me laughing away with no interest in closing her eyes. Eventually she fell asleep. 

As ridiculous as this sounds, I actually miss her when she's asleep. First thing in the morning has become my absolute favorite time of the day. Somehow, Piper and I usually wake up at the same time. I open my eyes, look over at her and she pops open her eyes. Then she smiles the biggest, gummiest smile and my heart explodes. I hope that every day for the rest of her babyhood starts that way.

Morning time also means "cuckoo" baby hour. This usually involves lots of squawking, "laughing" (those "ha ha" gusts), and wiggling around by Piper. There's a small red mark on the ceiling of our bedroom (left here by the previous tenant) that P laughs and stares at every morning. Kind of weird. 

Piper loves her daddy. When he holds her and she coo's, talks and laughs with and at him, I can only imagine what the future will be like for the three of us. I can tell he's going to be the "softie" and she'll never do wrong in his eyes. I'll end up being the disciplinarian jerk. Yeah, right. I actually fear ever having to instill any sort of discipline. When I see a little kid pull some crappy little kid move that makes parents cringe, I can't keep a straight face. And also, as bad of a person this will make me out to be, I laugh when toddlers/children take a tumble (pure evil, I am). I know this will all be different when it's my child wiping snots on the TV screen, or writing on the walls with markers, or eating shit down a flight of stairs...I'm in for a big reality check. 

Three months has changed so much. So much of my life changed the minute Piper was born and so much in me has changed since then. I'm realizing how selfish I was before she came into my life. She's helped me slow down and notice things, even especially the little things. 

Wednesday, August 24, 2011


Little P has discovered her hands. Throughout the day I catch her staring at them in awe. I keep telling her "those are your hands" and can't help but wonder what she'll do with those hands, of all that she'll create and all she will touch.

And as I wrote this, she did this:

Her very first reach and grab!

Wednesday, August 10, 2011


I think I forgot a lot of what happened the days and day leading up to Piper's birth. Just now remembered listening to this song on repeat for hours and hours while in labor. This song is magical.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Go Back / {HOME}

My dear friend Rachel came to meet Piper in July. She asked if there was anything from the East coast I wanted her to bring me. I couldn't think of anything but later, jokingly, in my head, thought of asking her to bring me a little bit of the Atlantic. I never did ask her. 

The night she arrived, she pulled a jar filled with sand, saltwater and even some seaweed out of her suitcase. Without me telling, or asking, she knew what I missed most. Friendship is funny that way. 

Everytime I walk past this jar, I'm reminded of what I left behind when I moved to the West coast. My family, some of my dearest friends, many memories (good and bad) and so much of myself I left on the East coast. I, of course, miss the people but more and more each day I miss the place. 

I miss the smell, I miss the colors, I miss the seasons. I miss four o'clock on an October evening and the cool crisp air. I miss hot summer days fading into night. I miss the beach lit up by the moon. I miss fireflies and the sound of coyotes. I even miss snowstorms.

I know I need to go back. What is difficult is that I know how much this place means to Cameron and it would be asking a lot for him to leave. I love this place, too. We have made amazing friends in our time here. The Pacific Northwest has a lot to offer, too. We have access to the ocean, the mountains, the desert... leaving here will break both of our hearts a little bit. It's going to be hard to say goodbye, whenever that time comes. 

I need to go back to the East coast. If I don't, if we stay here (which wouldn't be hard), my heart will forever be aching and missing the place that I love. I don't want to live my life missing anyone or thing that could be a part of my living life. It's hard enough to miss those that have passed away or to try and deal with the "I-wish-I-had's". I also know that I want my daughter to grow up on the ocean. Most of my best memories as a child involve the sea or searching the beach for shells or some sea-creatures. I'd like her to have that. 

Ideally, my dream would be to drive across the country (*if* and) when we do move. There's so much of this land that I've never seen. It makes me feel good to have some sort of adventure to look forward to...even if nothing is set in stone quite yet. 

With everything I just wrote, I think I need to address the word H O M E and what it means to me. 

In so many ways, the meaning of 'home' was redefined for me around the age of fifteen. Under different rooftops shared with different people, my idea of home was ever-changing. Up until now, I never quite knew where to consider 'home'. Having a family of my own now, I've come to understand that 'home' isn't necessarily a place or anything you could physically touch, even. Home for me is a feeling...nothing I could even explain, really. It's a feeling that lets you know that everything is just as it should be and that everything is alright. It's a feeling that makes you feel safe and fills you with love. 

And luckily, you can take it, or make it, anywhere.


Photo credit: Matt Pensworth

Saturday, July 30, 2011


This makes me happy.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Six Weeks Gone By

Six weeks. 42 days. Where did that time disappear to? It's so hard to believe this time has passed and that she is actually here. I think back to those first moments with her. How precious it felt to be a family of three for the very first time.

She is still so new yet I feel like she's been with me all my life, and maybe she has.

As time goes forward, I notice so much change.

She's starting to smile...real actual smiles. The kind that make me want to cry and often times do! When she smiles, her entire tiny body seems to be filled with happiness.

She no longer bends her knees up like a tiny frog when she's on her back. This is just one newborn trait that I say goodbye to.

She's stronger, longer, chubbier, heavier...her eyes are wider and bluer, her hands and feet plumper, and her head is shedding more and more of her newborn fuzz.

I still cannot believe she's here. My mind is blown daily just thinking about the months and weeks she grew inside of me...that she came from me...that she is half of me, half of him.

I see her becoming more and more of herself.

And even though it is still quite small, she figures out a little bit about her world with each new day.

I know the days will continue to disappear. I know eventually we'll lose count and we'll no longer be counting the weeks; we'll be counting the years that have passed since she joined us. Unfortunately, I can't stop time from slipping away. She will only be small for so long.

...And because time continues to tick, I'll continue to soak up every second, every minute, every hour I spend with her while she is still my little bug.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

It Don't Come Easy

My entire pregnancy with Piper was filled with emotional ups and downs. There was never a moment or second I didn't feel love or happiness every time I thought of the little life that was growing inside of me --- even in the very beginning when she was still just a tiny speck.

I fell in love with my baby before I even met her. It was the strangest love I've ever felt for anyone. I fell in love with something, or someone rather, that was pretty much imaginary. Even when I started to feel her kicks and jabs and rolling around, she still seemed so imaginary. I knew she was this tiny human growing inside of me but I found it so difficult to piece together in my mind's eye what she actually looked like. I started to become familiar with her feet. I always felt her little twinkle toes in my upper right side, right under my ribs. At times, I could almost grab her little foot with my thumb and forefinger. But still, she was so imaginary. It wasn't until I held her in my arms that it all made sense...that this was the baby that grew inside of me. 

I find the bond between mother and fetus amazing. Even before birth, the mother is, in so many ways, selfless. The mother and child's body is one for months. How incredible. How bizarre. What's most amazing, for me at least, is the sense of trust shared between mother and fetus. It's the same trust between mother and child that will either grow or dissolve throughout the child's life. 

The fetus depends on it's mother (more so the maternal body) to keep it alive. For me, this was not only and incredible honor but in all honesty, I found it to be a terrifying responsibility. I never thought of it as a burden in any way but it really scared me to think that this precious, perfect life inside of me depended on me completely. It was just so wild to think that my breath was her breath.

In March 2011 my father died. It was extremely difficult to allow myself to grieve while being seven months pregnant. I think I held back a lot of my hurt for my baby's sake. I didn't want her to feel what I felt. That might be complete bullshit --- who knows what a fetus actually experiences --- but for me, in that delicate time, I truly believed my baby was capable of feeling my own heartache...and this scared me. 

I'll never forget sitting in the church the day of my dad's funeral. Cameron to the left of me, my aunt to the right. I clutched both their hands so tight. The priest's thick Boston accent sounded so foggy and distant to me. My ears clung to: "Ah brotha, Brian"("Our brother, Brian") every time he spoke the words. My eyes focused on the small gray box that somehow contained my dad...his body now ashes. 

I remember sitting there so saddened and consumed by death but being so filled with life as I felt my baby kicking and rolling around inside of me. It was so surreal. I remember holding my hand to my stomach and feeling her kick. She, still just a tiny little being, brought so much peace to me in such a difficult time. 

Life is so strange like that. One leaves us just as one joins us.

It saddens me so much to know that she will never know the sound of his voice or what it feels like to be held in his arms. 

Piper and I have already experienced so much together. Lately, I've been feeling bitter towards the universe for making those experiences so damn difficult but I know that what we've endured can only bring us closer. 

Life isn't fair. What matters most in this life doesn't come easy and for so many reasons, I'm glad. Without heartache, without pain, without disappointment, we would never truly understand what it means to be alive.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Golden Slumbers

The very first night home with Piper was somewhat of a disaster. Conveniently, our bedroom is upstairs and the bathroom is downstairs. Not feeling up for the challenge of hauling my freshly-sliced abdomen up and down the stairs, I decided to spend the night on the couch in the living room.

Being sleep-deprived, emotional, foggy and somewhat loopy from all the pain medication, I was finding it really hard to communicate with Cameron which added to both of our stress levels. Here we were, first night home with our little bundle and I could barely walk let alone stand up-right....I felt useless. Cameron was such a tremendous help to me in the hospital helping me in and out of bed, to the bathroom, even getting on and off the toilet....but now that we were home, I wanted to be able to take care of myself and my baby. Not being able to do either of these things really made me depressed.

Cameron set up a blow-up mattress for him to sleep on and set up the co-sleeper for Piper. I arranged a thousand pillows on the couch to try and find some comfort. Once we were all set-up and ready for sleep, I think we both realized how much our lives had changed.

Cameron had swaddled Piper like a little baby burrito and placed her down in the co-sleeper. She kept rolling onto her side and I got all paranoid thinking she was going to suffocate so we moved her to her swing. It seemed as though it took five seconds for her to start freaking out. As she screamed in the dark of the living room, I remember feeling completely overwhelmed by the situation and feeling as if it just wasn't fair. I was incapable of jumping up and running to my screaming baby. I remember thinking that I'd take stitches from tearing over stitches from being sliced through the abdomen any day. I spent a long time that night feeling sorry for myself. I felt pathetic. It must have taken me about twenty minutes to set up my pillows and then lower myself onto the couch and then another twenty minutes to try and adjust my body to a comfortable position. I was so paranoid to use my abdominal muscles the slightest bit. I imagined my incision would burst and all my guts would explode out of me. (what a weenie)

Looking back on that night, I'm understanding better that it's just as hard for any new parents to adjust to a squirmy, screaming, screeching, pooping, boob-demanding creature. It's actually kind of funny for me to look back on that night now. Cameron and I were both clueless. We're still slightly clueless. I think it's going to be that way for a while now. Maybe it stays that way forever...

Now that Piper is almost a month old, and I'm feeling about 90% recovered, I think we're both beginning to understand each other better. I have a sense for why she's crying when she's crying and I'm starting to figure out how to fix the situation (somewhat) quickly. I think a big issue for both of us in the beginning was breastfeeding. For the first two weeks, I think I cried every day over breastfeeding. It wasn't coming as easy as I thought it would and it hurt. Now that I'm feeling more confident, I think Piper has relaxed a lot more too.

People have been asking us if we're tired or how she sleeps at night. I always feel like a jerk when I tell them that she's been awesome! If there is any sense of a "schedule" or "routine" this early on, it would be bedtime.

Piper usually has her last round of baby cute time around 9:30/10pm. We're typically already upstairs in bed just hanging out watching her be cute. She sits in her "doughnut" (an infant lounger by Boppy) and does her "little mouth" trick or makes sweet little kitten-like noises or just stares at the twinkle-Christmas lights we have wrapped around the bed frame. This lasts for about a half hour. I'll nurse her while we listen to some music (Abbey Road is a favorite so far) and she'll fall asleep. Around 11:30pm/12am is when we're ready to go to sleep and Piper will either wake up on her own or we'll wake her up to change her diaper and she'll nurse again and fall back to sleep until around 4am, repeat, and sleep until around 8am. MAGIC! Crossing our fingers it lasts.

Since our first-night-home-fiasco, Piper has been sleeping in bed with us. Some have advised us against this, but it's what works for us (for now) and having her right there next to me makes waking up at 4am to nurse her so much easier...not to mention having her right there in between us and hearing her grunt in her sleep or just listening to her breathe in the dark and then waking up next to her in the morning just melts my heart.

She's only a tiny little squirt but she takes up more room than Cameron and I both (we now have a thin sliver of mattress each) but that's okay! It's only the beginning of the sacrifices we'll make, I'm sure.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

I really don't know life at all

It seems as though the motivation behind this blog comes from the words of Joni Mitchell.

I woke up this morning with "Both Sides Now" ringing through my still-sleepy head as I nursed my three-week-old baby girl. As I slowly awoke, I put on the song. I listened to the sound coming through my laptop speakers, still cozy in bed with my (now) sleeping Piper. Being three weeks post-partum, and (still) entirely emotional, I began to sob. I remembered listening to this song when I was pregnant. I wondered if in her own sleepy head, Piper recognized the sound of Joni Mitchell's voice. 

I started thinking about what has been relentlessly occupying my mind for three weeks and one day: the birth of my daughter. 

Her birth was unlike anything I imagined it to be. Everything I planned for, everything I hoped and dreamed her birth to be like, it was not. 

On June 8th, 11 days past her "due date", around 11:50pm my water broke. I was laying in bed reading birth stories out of Ina May's Spiritual Midwifery while Cameron snored away next to me. I put the book down, turned off the lights and just lay there in the dark. Then I felt like I peed my pants. It had happened before and being over 40 weeks pregnant, I didn't doubt that it had happened again. I got up and went to the bathroom. My midwife had given me pH strips to test if and when my water broke. If it was amniotic fluid, the strip would turn midnight blue. It turned blue! I remember feeling that same heart-jumpy feeling I felt when I saw the + on the pregnancy test I took back in September. I made my way back into our bedroom. I thought about whether or not I should wake Cameron. Of course I should! This was it! I calmly said: "Hey Cameron, my water broke." He shot up in bed. He seemed excited and somewhat skeptical. I called my midwives and sent out a few texts to close friends.

Turns out, only my outer membranes ruptured and labor didn't end up really setting in until later the next day. Cameron and I spent the day walking the neighborhood. I bounced on my exercise ball. I paced around the house. I hadn't slept at all. Contractions were picking up but never got closer than 7-8 minutes apart. The plan was for us to head to the birth center once the contractions reached 5 minutes apart. All day Thursday and in to Thursday night, the contractions remained strong but still stayed irregular. After talking with my midwife, we decided it was best for us to head to the birth center Friday morning at 8am where he would try inducing with prostaglandin gel I think I slept for a total of five minutes that night.

Friday morning Cameron and I gathered our gear and car seat for baby and made our way to the birth center. It was such a strange drive. We had driven those roads a hundred times but this time it was different. We were on our way to meet our baby. Finally. 

Once we got to the birth center, we were greeted by Krissy and Ed. Everyone was excited and we sat around and talked and laughed for a while. I started to become really focused on the task that lay ahead of me and became quiet while everyone else carried on their conversations. Ed suggested we walk around the neighborhood for a while. Krissy, Cameron and I walked for about an hour until Krissy had to head back to the clinic for a meeting. Cameron and I continued to walk for about another hour or so. 

Every now and then, I had to stop with each contraction and just hold on to Cameron until it was over. The whole time we walked, we timed the contractions. They were about 5 minutes apart now. It was around 11am when I started getting tired from walking and my contractions were getting stronger so we began to make our way back to the birth center. A few hours went by and my contractions stayed somewhere between 5 and 6 minutes a part. Ed decided to inject some prostaglandin gel to attempt to speed things up a bit. This seemed to do the trick. What helped get me through the contractions was to look Cameron in the eyes. It was like his eyes were anchoring me to reality, without them, I'd float off to a really scary, vulnerable place. He kept reminding me to breathe. This helped too.

The hours seemed to melt together from here on out. It was getting harder and harder for me to focus on anything outside of myself and what was going on with my body and my baby. At some point, I remember Cameron and the midwives discussing what they would order for dinner. They were trying to decide between Thai or Indian food. I remember I was starving but the thought of actually consuming food made me sick. I drank protein shakes and snacked on almonds while everyone else decided on Thai. They were nice enough to eat their food in another room, just in case the smell made me sick. 

I noticed it was dark outside and caught a quick glimpse of Krissy's wristwatch....I think it said 7:30pm. By this point, my ability to communicate was becoming difficult. My poor family on the East coast was completely in the dark. I had asked Cameron to turn off his phone so he could be completely present so they had no idea what was going on or if the baby had been born yet.

The most comfortable position for me to be in was sitting on the birth ball with pillows stacked on the edge of the bed in front of me where I rested my head. I asked Cameron to get a cold washcloth for my head. I sat on that ball with my head resting on the stack of pillows with the washcloth on my forehead for a long time. Cameron sat behind me in a rocking chair. I would point to my back when I wanted him to literally punch me or when I wanted him to squeeze my hips together as hard as he could. I put some essential oils on a tissue that I folded up into a small square. With each contraction, I would practice the "Hypnobirthing" techniques we learned in the 3 week course we took and sniff the small square tissue. This helped for a while. Then I just couldn't sit still. I had to be moving. Cameron and I walked the halls of the birth center, we went and stared at the fish in the fish tank, we walked the halls some more...I'd stop with contractions and hang off of Cameron's shoulders and just moan like a crazy woman. 

Once we were done walking the halls, Ed checked me. I was 5 cm dilated which meant I could get into the tub. When they announced this to me, I was surprised I wasn't jumping with joy. I anticipated myself being really excited for this. In the moment, I guess I was just too exhausted and focused to really care. I climbed into the tub and lowered myself into the water. The warmth of the water felt amazing. I floated there surrounded by glowing candles and the sound of Chopin for what must have been hours. This is when everything turned into a BLUR. The contractions were kicking my ass. The controlled, low moaning that had been escaping my mouth earlier had now turned into strong intense growls. I had no idea what was going on around me, who was there, where I was...I was just going with each contraction and surrendering to my body. 

In between contractions, in one of my fleeting moments of clarity, I noticed that everyone around me was asleep. I was alone. At this point I panicked. I actually believed I was going to die. The pain had taken over and was just too much. I was going to die and no one was going to notice. I was never going to meet my baby. I was going to die and that was that. 

The night that had turned into early morning dragged on with incredible speed. I remember reaching the  point when all I could do was scream. I wondered how the hell people were sleeping with me screaming like this? Cameron was next to the tub in the rocking chair. He had dozed off but his eyes would widen when I screamed. 

Ed came in again to check me. He told me I had reached a good 8 to 9 cms. It was hard for me to wrap my mind around this. How had I made it this far? My baby was on her way! I was excited, I was exhausted, I was scared. The sun rose and I was still floating in the water. The skin on my feet and hands had turned to prunes.

Ed had determined that my cervix was stuck at 8 cms and was beginning to swell. For the next eight hours, we tried everything to change this. Nothing seemed to work. The pain had become out of this world bad. I found myself begging with my midwives, as if they had some secret escape plan that they had been keeping secret from me. 

Then the news was broken to me.

Our best option was to head to the hospital for a c-section. My heart sunk with this. Everything I had planned for, everything that I had dreamed my birth experience would be was suddenly destroyed. All the preparations Cameron and I had made, the classes, the research, the books...all out the window. I wanted to cry, I felt like I was supposed to cry, but I couldn't. I knew that this is what needed to happen next. It had been days of trying, and I simply could not try any more. It was out of my hands now. 

We packed up our things and I got dressed. Everyone was exhausted. In the parking lot, right before Cameron helped me into the car, I had an intense contraction. I gripped his neck and held on tight. I noticed a family with a little girl walking by. As I screamed, the little girl looked up at her parents with a look of terror in her face like, "What is happening to that lady?!" The car ride to the hospital was torture. We made it to the ER entrance and I was met with a wheelchair. I sat down in the wheelchair and they whisked me to a labor and delivery room. I clenched my eyes shut as tight as I could. 

They told me to put on a robe (which I put on backwards at first and then had to get up and re-do it). Then they hooked me up to a monitor. I hated knowing when a contraction was coming and I hated hearing that my baby's heart rate was dropping. I was really holding back screaming with each contraction by breathing really heavy. I would breathe in and out like I've never breathed before. It was weird. My eyes still clenched, I could hear nurses chipperly saying: "wow, she's doing so good!"...this irritated me for some reason...maybe it was because they were trying to put an IV in while I was having these contractions. I had to ask them to wait until the contractions stopped for them to put the IV in. Then I was given a shot to stop my labor. What a weird sensation. I kept anxiously anticipating contractions that never ended up coming. 

The rest is all an even bigger blur but I do remember the doctor coming in and telling me that he felt it was best to get the baby here by cesarean section. I signed a form and the wheeled me into the OR. Cameron had to wait outside while I was prepped for my spinal. The kindest, sweetest, loveliest nurse named "Bev" (who had the sparkliest, bluest eyes) asked if she could pray for me. I said yes. As I leaned my body forward, legs dangling off the edge of the table-like bed I sat on, Bev hugged me and prayed for me and Piper. I remained perfectly still as the needle stabbed into my back. I slowly but quickly felt my lower body disappear. They lifted my body from one table to another, put a warm blanket over my chest and tied my arms down as they draped a blue sheet in front of my head. Cameron was allowed in at this point. He remained close to my head the entire time. My body was numb but I could still feel it. Strangest feeling ever. I could feel the sensation as they shaved me and I could feel them tugging and pulling at my body. 

And then we heard her.

After 9 months and 13 days of waiting, our daughter joined us. I met eyes with Cameron and he said "that's her". We were both flooded with tears. The look in Cameron's eyes at that very second is something I'll never forget. He had also gone through so much to get her here. At that moment, my love for him grew a million times stronger. 

I couldn't believe the shrieking, shrilly, dolphin-like sounds I was hearing was the voice of my daughter. The white, sterile room was suddenly filled with so much life! They brought her over to a table to the left of where I lay to clean her up. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Not for one second. It was if my eyes were protecting her. I couldn't put my arms around her so I guess it had to be my eyes. She was beet-red and chubby. Her hair was dark and she had so much of it! I yelled to Cameron to go get his camera. Then I felt guilty about sending him away for 2 seconds when he could have been talking to her while they cleaned her up and weighed her. When he came back, she was handed to him, bundled and cute. He brought her to me and for the first time, our eyes met. She cried, but didn't seem upset. I wanted, more than anything, to hold my baby. I kept asking if we could do "skin-to-skin". They said as soon as we get back to the recovery room. 

They nudged her little bundled body into the hook of my arm as they wheeled me back to the recovery room. I don't remember exactly what I said to her in those first few moments. I'm pretty sure I just kept repeating: "I love you" and "you're beautiful".

Back in the recovery room, we were met by my midwives. They had stayed with me through it all. They are amazing. That lovely nurse "Bev" unwrapped my Piper and plopped her down on my bare chest. Bev helped me nurse Piper for the first time and she took to it like a pro. I was so so so grateful. 

The first few hours with Piper will forever be locked inside my heart. The way Cameron rocked her in his arms when she cried at night, the way he gazed into her eyes and told her "just how beautiful she is" is something I'll never forget. 

Piper has already taught me so much in her three weeks with us. I have learned that I cannot control everything that happens in my life. Birth was something I thought I could grab hold of and take control. I've heard or read "own your birth" so many times. During my pregnancy, I prepared myself for such a magical, amazing birth experience. I ended up with something quite different. No less magical, no less amazing, just different. I learned, in the end, that "my" birth wasn't mine at all. It was my birth experience but it was Piper's birth. How she arrived is exactly how she was destined to arrive. There was nothing I could have done differently to change that.

Now that she's here, I can't imagine what my life was like before. Now that she's here, I can't imagine what life will be like a week...a year...ten years from now. Something happened to me the day she was born. Something that I'm not sure I'll ever understand. My love for her is greater than any love I've ever felt. 

It's these early days, when we're still trying to figure each other out, that I hope I never forget. It's an incredible feeling to feel love for your own child, but it's an even greater feeling to feel that they love you back. I feel that love as her little hand searches for my finger when she's nursing and then again when her hand finds my finger and grasps it. I feel that love as I hover above her talking nonsense and she begins to smile with her eyes and at only three weeks old (I swear!) she smiles with her little gummy mouth--her cooing telling me she is entertained by my nonsense-talk. I feel that love so many times throughout the day and I am so amazed by it. I am so amazed by her. I see myself in her and I see Cameron, but I mostly see her: Piper. I wonder what she will do with her life. I wonder who she will love, whose heart she will break, who will break her heart (and who I will obviously, have to kill because of it). I wonder how long she will fit in my arms and how long she will let me hold on to her. 

Life is so different now that Piper is here. All that I thought I knew has suddenly been proven wrong and I can't wait for her to help me figure it all out for the first time. 

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