This story was based off a prompt (a character must fall in love in the last sentence), which led me to be incredibly sappy about my daughter’s birth. The Moment that I had been waiting for, with so much excitement and nerves, had finally come. This is based on actual and true events.
I’ve been waiting nine months, six days, and twenty-two hours for this moment.
A nurse is grasping my hand, my husband is stroking my hair, and my daughter is laying in the birth canal – directly on top of a nerve. The sciatic pain that I’m experiencing is eclipsing the labor pains. My left leg feels as if it’s about to fall off, and I would gladly see it go if it meant the deep ache would go too.
A nurse says, “Ready?”
“Nooo.” I moan, rolling my head towards my husband. “No, please. I don’t want to.”
The nurse hasn’t heard me, and instead says, “Okay…get ready!”
“Nooo!” I whisper again.
“She says she doesn’t want to,” Michael says. Bless him.
“Well, she has to.” The nurse grabs one of my knees. “Okay, one, two, go!”
I do. It’s the only option, really. My body contracts, mostly on its own; muscle knowledge kicking in as I struggle to concentrate. And then something happens. The pain in my left buttcheek suddenly releases. For a brief second, I wonder if my water has somehow broken again.
As my brain registers that my daughter has actually been born, I’m barraged by hands. Someone has thrown a towel over my chest, and someone else has hoisted a baby on top of the towel. Hands are quickly rubbing down the pink skin of my daughter, and someone is checking her airways.
I’m frozen in shock, knees still pulled up, hands held out as if I’m receiving a standing ovation. I want to touch her, but there are still hands in the way, cleaning and checking.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” Is all I can think to say. I have a baby. On my chest. And it’s my baby.
“Is she okay?” I babble, my hands now fluttering down and pushing one of the hands away so I can finally stroke my tiny baby.
“She looks great.” Someone says.
“Is she a girl?” The question pops out before I realize what I’m saying.
“Yes,” a nurse laughs. “She’s a girl.”
I nod, unsure of what to do or say. Finally, all the hands leave, and I’m left with a baby, snuggled so close to my neck that I still haven’t seen her face. A tiny hand reaches up and touches my mouth. My heart flutters and I kiss the fingers. They stay on my lips, resting there for a moment.
I realize I’m crying. Michael touches my hand and I look up at him. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Hey, Mommy.”
It’s cheesy and perfect. I ease the baby away from my neck so that I can see her face.
“Hi, Violet Rose.”
The baby yawns. Immediately, I know that what I’ve been told about the love a mother has for her child is true. Looking at the tiny pink face, I fall in love with the tiny soul that God has graciously given to me.
Storm Shultz 