Eight years ago I met the boy who would change my life in ways I never imagined. Eight years ago I gave birth to my sweet O.
With the haze of 8 years and myriad heartbreaks and joys, I can still see his little wrinkled red face crying, as his father stood awestruck and silent. I was still not sure if he was a boy or a girl, but I knew I loved this baby more than anyone or anything. Within 20 minutes we were nestled together in the recovery room, attempting our first breastfeeding and he latched on right away. It was the most beautiful physical experience of my life.
I hadn't given birth the way I wanted to, but I could feed my precious baby. And so I felt healed and whole, after the disappointment of an epidural and a c-section. Nothing could be wrong after that sweet baby slept in my arms for the first time.
Later that day relatives and friends came to see us and meet O. I barely remember any of that since I was so high on pain meds. But I do remember O and his daddy napping on the hospital bed, so peaceful and content. O with the little blue knit hat on his head. His father's face so full of love and contentment. I never saw anything more beautiful; that is until the moment my two sons met, almost 4 years later.
I have photos of both of these precious moments. The moments when I knew that my heart could never love any more than it did at that moment. The moments when my heart just about burst.
So when life gets difficult (which it often does) or I get angry or annoyed at either my sons or their father; I try to picture those moments. Those precious fleeting moments of pure love and joy.
No matter what else happens and how things change, the four of us are a family. The story of our family started eight years ago today. So today I celebrate more than just the birth of my oldest son, but also the birth of our family.