Lessons from my baby daughter #1.
My little Miss L loves nothing better than waking up. She greets each morning with the kind of joy that makes her wiggle like a puppy and shout, “Hello world, I’m alive!” In fact, if I could translate baby babble I’m pretty sure that is exactly what she would say.
I, on the other hand, stumble out of bed with my eyes closed and my hands reaching for doors and walls and bedposts, usually ending up with a few more bruises to add to the collection.
The morning of April 19 this year was far from ideal. I opened my eyes to flickering fluorescent lights, incessantly beeping heart monitors and the looming shadow of an IV stand that screamed ‘hospital’. I could hear the scuffing of nursing grade rubber-soled shoes and the squeak of trolleys moving up and down the hall beyond my door. I could feel the dull ache of multiple IV needles running up both arms, the itch of sticky pads covering my chest, the lingering sharpness of episiotomy stitches, the growing tingle of breast milk letting down and an unbearable urge to pee. It took perhaps a minute for the memory of the night before to come rushing back. The leftover pressure in my chest and the fear of taking a deep breath were not far behind.
It was not a word I would have chosen to wake up to but I was, without a doubt, the happiest person on earth that morning to be waking up at all. I beamed good morning to each and every nurse and if I could have wiggled like a puppy, well I would have. There is nothing else like the miracle of greeting a new day and knowing it won’t be your last.
These days, when I catch that first early hour glimpse of Miss L through my sleep crusted eyes, I try to remember how I felt that morning. When the day ahead looks too daunting, and it so often does, I think of what it would be like for my world to be waking up without me and I’ll be damned if I can’t find a wiggle in there somewhere to join my daughter’s.
Rise and shine, baby girl, it’s a beautiful day!