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Deep in the hundred acre wood.

Two weeks pass since his due date. I was miserable in humid Tennessee heat, swollen and sleepless. I could not wait to meet him.

A whimsical nursery mural. Handmade quilt. Perfectly folded (and refolded) onesies resting and waiting for his little baby body. He promised to be the most fine boy in the world.

Our first encounter ends abruptly after a difficult and toxic labor. "I can't hold him. I'm going to be sick." I go unwilling, and somewhat delirious, to rest. Passing the nursery on the way, I see his hair is matted and wet. "He looks funny", was all I could muster. I sleep briefly before throwing myself into the task at hand: Someome's Mother.

It is Day 3 when I truly fall in love. Gram is there and administers his first sponge bath, thick towel spread out on the bed and a warm bowl of water next to Baby Magic. He is cold and scolding. She giggles a little at his tantrum but I cannot bear it and my feelings are hurt. She recognizes a moment when she sees one.

When he's fresh and yummy, she swaddles him. It's my turn and my arms are aching. Securely latched on, he does not take his eyes off me. A silent communion defines Us. We do not blink. I go willing and delirious away from Who I Was.

He is eighteen today. God gave him golden hair to delight me. I swear it was.

I didn't like people to touch it.


  1. Rewinding this weekend @

  2. Love this post. Just beautiiful.

    Thanks for Rewinding at the Fibro.


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