Spring

Babe,

I have been reflecting back to October and to how difficult all of this was in the beginning. We brought you home from the hospital on a cold, rainy night that epitomized our first weeks. The sky was always dark.  There were storms.  It was windy and cold.  We were all prisoners in this tiny house.  I lost a lot of blood during your birth and was still very weak.  My world shrunk into restless midnights in our dark bedroom.  Then, it shrunk further, into the stormy microclimate between you, your father, and me.  I retreated still, until I was living with only you inside the dark circle of my arms where I studied the furrows of your little countenance like a scientist. Sometimes I felt like those autumn clouds were hiding in my eyebrows.  I felt those cold showers in my brain. It was like the weather sympathized with us. 

 

Your heartbeat was always reaching out to me. I saw its power in the eyes of your midwives.  I heard the surprise of its strength in their laughter.  You have always been strong.  Those stethoscopes were foghorns predicting safety after the storm.   It was a beacon.  If I were wiser I could have rested in its promise.

 

I can talk about those cloudy days now because it is Spring.  I feel the importance of those learning times like the cycle of the seasons.  You are blossoming like the pretty pink bushes outside. Your father and I are blossoming, too.  We are being fed with the sunshine you beam into our lives.  Your innate fortitude is leading the way and your unconditional love is filling our hearts with warmth. We are becoming better people because of you.  Your growth is mirroring the Earth’s celestial path around its own sun and our world revolves around you.