Hello, baby.


Just this evening, after I fed you and we were hanging around in the bedroom – just the two of us, I held you close and lay back on the pillow. You, who are usually insanely active and curious even just before bedtime, and who scoot all around the bed to explore every available space, lifted your head to look at me (we were facing each other), and then decided to quietly rest your head on my chest.

Right there, right then, I was taken back to the delivery room where you were first placed in my arms, in the exact same position. Receiving you was a more highly emotional event than receiving your brother, partly because I wasn’t in as much pain as I was with Matthew, partly because I knew what to expect, and a largely because I had waited for you to arrive for so long.

I remember weeping and laughing at the same time when Dr Lee pulled you out of me. I remember feeling highly elated and deeply moved that my girl was finally here. And apparently, I still remember that first moment when you were placed in my arms. I wasn’t aware that I was, but tonight, I am happy to discover that the memory of that first raw contact exists.

You are of course, now much bigger than when I first held you. And you are so much lovelier to cuddle now – with your chubbiness and all. I held you and wanted to weep like I did that first time one early morning a year ago.

In that small moment when these two encounters meshed into one, and time crossed over, there was only one thing that escaped my lips, surprising even myself that I had vocalised that thought.

“Hello baby,” I breathed, and pulled you in closer.

Hello, my baby. I’m so glad you’re here.


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