Mommy Ever After » birth story

What is in store? Ever so much more.

Rebecca Fox Starr — Wed, 24 Dec 2014 13:18:25 +0000

Yesterday, my “work day” wrapped up with a chat with my business manager.

By the way, you must remember, I am the girl who has only had one set of business cards in her entire life…

and they were Betty Boop business cards I had personalized for me at FAO Schwartz that read, “Star of Stage and Screen”.

The fact that I have a whole team is extremely exciting and entirely humbling, to say the least.

I have spent the past four and a half years writing about nursing a toddler and nursing colds,

meeting milestones and making mischief and making mistakes–

and this next step–this leap of faith–has been huge.

In any case, we were discussing Mommy, Ever After and the new site and some real businessy things that are too businessy for me to even try to explain,

and then we ended the conversation with her saying, “Your voice is different in this “new” MEA. I can’t really put my finger on how, but it reads differently.”

And I think I get what she is saying. The fact is, Mommy, Ever After has evolved and morphed and shifted in ways I could have never predicted when I started writing. It used to be more of a daily diary, with tidbits about my goings-on and the chronicles of new parenthood.

It was my baby book.

Once I started developing an audience, I wrote more in depth posts, serializing stories like how my husband and I met, how we got engaged, my birth story, etc.

I talked about tutus and dance parties and sparkly shoes. I talked about some more poignant things, like my lost loved ones and how that has given me my thing for feathers. But, one thing that hasn’t changed is that I have always been really honest. I have called myself out for being crazy, I have talked about my weaknesses and fears, I have asked for help.

Because I have always wanted to help. I wanted people, women or men, parents or teens or grandparents, to be able to read a post and say, “I am not alone.”

That was when Mommy, Ever After was “A Happy Story”.

And then my life took an unexpected turn. “A Hard Story”.

And as I slowly climb back up, step by step, day by day, sometimes minute by minute, I do feel like I am living “A Hopeful Story”. Because I refuse to give up.

In any case, the conversation with my manager inspired me to tell you a little bit about what you can expect, in just the coming week, as we all get acclimated to our new home here.

(By the way, I hope you like our new digs. If you get the chance and have not already, check it out from a computer. There is so much more to see in a less condensed way.)

So this week I will be:

Giving a tour of the site, so that you can see all of the new features I have to offer. I will guide you to the best places that will meet your needs and you will learn how to use all of the new buttons and categories and columns most effectively.

Posting the sequel to my old post about music; because since I published that post years ago, I have been lucky enough to become the lead singer of an amazing band, Fox & the Hounds. It has changed my life for the better (and for good).

Sharing a behind-the-scenes look at an amazing skincare line, as you learn everything you have ever wanted to know about how to reveal your most beautiful self. And not just outer beauty; these ladies are all about supporting one another, encouraging true teamwork and being positive cheerleaders for friends, colleagues and life.

Exploring the world of anxiety, which is an affliction that so many people face, but so few actually verbalize.

Reflecting on my recent Hanukkah experience and all of it’s firsts.

Telling the stories of our fun holiday happenings with The Tribe.

And just being the Me(a) that I have always been; forever candid, sometimes cray cray, occasionally humorous and ever so grateful.

So settle in, find a cozy spot and stick around.

The best is yet to be.

The post What is in store? Ever so much more. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

My Shop is Closed

mommyeverafter — Fri, 08 Aug 2014 14:43:16 +0000

(via Ramshackle Glam’s Pinterest Page)

ser·en·dip·i·ty

ˌserənˈdipitē

noun

noun: serendipity; plural noun: serendipities

the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

***

Yesterday, I read a post that brought me to tears. My girl Jordan over at Ramshackleglam wrote the most beautiful piece entitled, “Not So Brave“, about the impending (like, this week) birth of her second child, a daughter, “Goldie”.

In it, she wrote,
But that’s why I’ve been spending time every day looking at these photos: because seeing them reminds me that there’s something much bigger waiting for me on the other side of the pain and the exhaustion and the everything-that-might-go-wrong, and that’s that no matter what happens, I know this: I get to fall in love. Again. I almost can’t believe it. I know there’s “a baby” coming…but my daughter? That doesn’t feel possible; it feels too big and too forever to be real.

So maybe being not so brave is okay. I mean, it’s okay to be scared of falling in love. It should be scary, shouldn’t it? Because you can’t control it, and you can’t stop it, and once it’s there it changes everything.

And she wrote, so eloquently, about the exact sense of overwhelming anticipation and fear and excitement and love that I was trying to describe when I wrote the hardest words, my post about my inability to bear more children. And her post moved me, because it was addressing the exact thing that I mourn the most. The magic.

I mourn the magic.

***

This week, I had a doctor’s appointment at the hospital. It was the hospital where I gave birth to both of my children. The hospital, for me, is haunted. I drove into the garage and pictured myself, just a year ago, walking through the darkness, cradling my giant belly in my hands.

I entered the building and right past the outpatient lab. I looked inside and pictured myself 12 weeks pregnant, after having been shocked at my Sequential Screen Ultrasound when the tech told us that he saw “something between the baby’s legs”. It was in that lab that I called my dad and told him that we were having a boy.

I walked to the East medical office building and took the elevator, the elevator that I rode every month, and then every week, to check on my babies’ heartbeats while they were still inside me.

And being in the hospital…it hurt.

***

This past week, I experienced two competely different, but equally meaningful experiences:

I geared up (with true, sincere happiness, mind you) for the impending births of several babies whose gestation I have been following and celebrating.

I saw photos posted online of newborns. I saw tiny heads in those tiny striped hats. I saw people become parents.

And simultaneously, I experienced having to tell at least five different people that I would no longer be bearing any children of my own. I had to tell a doctor and a nurse. I told several people who asked me while I was pushing my son in his stroller around town. Sometimes it was met with skepticism. “Oh, well you never know.” with a sly smile.

But I know.

***

So here’s where serendipity comes into play. I read Jordan’s post with a pang. And I thought about how I could could write about my own, still sad, feelings, while still being so happy for and proud of her. But I was scared. I thought it would be therapeutic, but I was nervous about taking the first step.

And then, coincidentally, she emailed me. We exchanged notes about her daughter and mine; we talked about some milestones, about trying to get my daughter’s ears pierced (hashtag fail) and how much she has to look forward to; I told her about the black, knee high suede fringe Minnetonka Moccasins that I will be sending her little girl’s way. And that made me happy. And she wrote about feeling “Not So Brave”, and, in turn, she gave me the courage to feel OK about not holding it together. About admitting that I am still in pain.

And then she posted the Hemingway quote. Not only was it the perfect quote, but it was my guy, Hem.

And so I am letting go.

And so I am writing hard. I am writing about what hurts.

I am definitely still wading through the mire of grief stages. I am still bargaining, thinking of ways for me to add to my family.

Sometimes I have dreams that the doctor was wrong. That I can, actually, decide to “try” again. I can wait, with a quickened heartbeat, for two lines to appear on a stick. I can see a little teddy bear flickering on an ultrasound. I can find out if the baby is a boy or a girl. I can feel kicks and feel nauseated and feel the baby being pulled from inside of me as I hear the doctor say “I see a hand! I see a foot!”

But that is not my story.

My story may, someday, include more children. Probably not, but maybe. But they won’t be coming from my womb.

Write hard and clear

The shop is closed.

So for now I will enjoy my babies and appreciate them more than they will ever know. I will celebrate the births of my friends’ children. And I will try to bust the ghosts when I walk through the hospital halls.

My shop is closed. But there is great joy ahead. There are memories to be made. Milestones to face. Dance parties to have, hands to hold and heartbeats to listen to, as I rest my head on my babies’ chests at night. There are lullabies to sing and lives to live.

My shop is closed,

but so, so many doors have yet to be opened.

The post My Shop is Closed appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Sometimes.

mommyeverafter — Wed, 12 Mar 2014 22:40:03 +0000

Sometimes, being a mommy gets overwhelming. Sometimes, I have moments of exasperation, like I shared earlier.
But then sometimes, the baby goes to bed extra early,
and my husband and I both get to do bedtime for the biggie,
and I get to tell two bedtime stories: One made up about a place called Alasia, where Queen Elsa, Princess Anna, Princess Leah and Darth Vader all live and one about the night she was born.
And then I get to snuggle up with her, and sing to her this song, almost as a whisper,

The warmth of your love’s like the warmth of the sun…
…now we’re there and we’ve only just begun.
And it’s those times for which I live.

The post Sometimes. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

A Birth Story-My Sequel: Part 3

mommyeverafter — Sat, 01 Feb 2014 20:36:48 +0000

When we left off, I was being wheeled into the OR in the afternoon for a surprise C-Section, 4 days early, at 38.5 weeks and scared as hell.
I am a very superstitious person and look for signs all around me. During the scary, unknown part of my first unexpected C-Section with my daughter, I was feeling helpless and hopeless and the doctor said “The baby is about to come out” and my Nanny’s favorite song, Desperado, began to play in the OR radio. That was a good sign and even though my daughter had been in distress, her chord around her neck twice, she was OK. Because my angel had told me so.
So for my second go-round, I had my husband in my lucky socks, and was looking for similar signs. First, I liked the date. I am a numbers person and like that 2 is my mom’s lucky number, 4 is my sister’s and added together, 6 is my dad’s. That seemed to me like a good sign.
The second sign was my med student, Anna, who stood by my side the entire time, was named Anna. Anna is a very symbolic name for me, as it represents the name of my other angel, my Superman, for whom my daughter was named. Then I met my new anesthesiologist. His name was William. That was the name of my husband’s late grandfather. I felt like this was another sign, that our angels had gathered together to watch over my surgery and this birth.
The final sign was that William’s last name was Shepherd. Dr. Shepherd. McDreamy from Grey’s Anatomy. That had to mean something.
But despite these comforts, I was still scared to the point of shaking uncontrollably. And dear, sweet Anna, Doctor Anna, hugged me and held me, and told me I was in good hands, and she even hugged me, as I had to curl my spine over in order to receive my epidural. After having explained my aversion to my previous spinal, Dr. Shepherd decided to give me an epidural instead of the one shot spinal, and it was a much slower onset, which I preferred greatly. They also gave me pain medicine and some anxiety meds through my IV, something that he equated to a glass of wine (as I did not want to feel too out of it, but definitely needed to take the edge off).
At this point my OBGYN came in to “Get the party started” and because an epidural works differently than a spinal, I could feel so much for. So much so that I heard them say, “Time to insert the catheter” and I shouted, over the blue screen that they had put up between my face and surgical site, “I can still feel my vagina!”
The next part is somewhat of a blur; they opened me up, my husband was allowed back in with me, my blood pressure kept dropping, I kept feeling scared, I literally felt myself lift off the table as they yanked the baby out,
I kept hearing them talking about things like seeing a hand and adhesions and blood and I loved it and hated it all at once
and then,
all of a sudden,
a cry.
I had a son.
And I looked at the clock. My daughter was born at 2:22 am, a hard time to beat in my book (for my lucky number is 11, so 22 is double 11. I know that I’m weird, by the way.)
My son was born at 4:11pm. 4/11 is my birthday. Could not have gotten better.
And speaking of numbers, he came out weighing 7 lbs 12 oz. The exact same weight as my daughter.
What is more interesting is that he was 7lbs 12 oz at 38.5 weeks, while she was full term at 40; so apparently my uterus hands out an eviction notice at just that size. They were only a half inch a part, him being 21.5 inches to her 21. I make solid babies, it seems.
And, because I had asked for it beforehand, they brought him to me, and I saw that he had fair hair and a cleft in his chin (like many of the men in my family) and I swear when our faces touched he smiled.
And then the world disappeared. I know this sounds like one of those hokey, cliche things, but everything else melted away as my husband, son and I cuddled up, as the doctors were still working to sew me up, and we sang to him. We held him and sang a song that my PopPop made up for us years ago.
Mommy loves the baby,
Daddy loves the baby,
Everybody loves the little boy.
I remember wanting to be out of the OR, and holding him in my arms, and eventually we got there and he latched on immediately as I held him and nursed him and sent a text to my friend saying “I have a son.”
My pregnancy with my son was not nearly as magical or enchanting as that with my daughter, but I must say, the birth and the time right thereafter was extraordinarily special.
But there was one milestone left to happen; we needed my daughter to meet her brother. She had been having a great time at her best friend’s house, so much so that she peed her pants in all the excitement. So I am proud to say that my daughter met her baby brother for the first time wearing her boyfriend’s Cars underpants and cargos.
And at around 6 o’clock that evening, my little girl, who suddenly seemed so big, walked into the recovery room and over to her brother and said, “Hi baby. I love you. Don’t cry. Maybe I can carry him?”
And then there were four.
I will never, in all my life, forget the feeling of wholeness that that moment provided for me. All of my fears about not being able to love a second child, or a boy, washed away. I was, instead, swathed in rich, deep feelings of love and gratitude.
So that’s how it all went down. It was not easy, but it was beautiful.
And I am never doing it ever, ever again.
So instead of saying The End to this story, I will say something far more appropriate:
The beginning…

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A Birth Story-My Sequel: Part 2

mommyeverafter — Fri, 31 Jan 2014 22:45:47 +0000

Perhaps I should back up a bit. As I mentioned, the doctor told me that because of the nature of my contractions,
the difference I was feeling (despite having already been through FOUR false alarms),
I should come in to Labor and Delivery to be checked out. You should know this about me: I am a positive person, I am constantly accusing my husband of being a big ol’ naysayer. But in this case, I was miss “this is ridiculous, why am I going in again, I am going to be pissed to be sent home again, blah da de bla bla”. And remember. I had “Hot Cocoa” on my nails and they were 2/3 chipped off. And, while typically I don’t care about dirty hair, I did a hasty wash, threw on some eyeliner and blush, and called my mom, while in a towel.
“The doctor wants me to come in.” I said sheepishly.
And for the first time, her voice was different. “I think this is it.” She said.
We didn’t tell my husband.
We called my mama bestie to have her “On call” in case we needed her to pick up my daughter from school, and off we went.
Just in case, I wore my lucky underwear and purple socks, but I was still skeptic city.
Upon our arrival at the hospital I was greeted as an old friend; everyone there knew me. The residents and I were on a first name basis. It was embarrassing. But I had to admit, the pain I was feeling was different. And the monitor showed the same. I was having strong contractions every three minutes, regularly.
But, alas, as it has always happened when it comes to me and my labors, my cervix was not opening. Not at all. Not even one centimeter.
So I waited in the bed, for hours, contracting to the point of agony, when I started to cry.
I cried from the pain.
I cried from the uncertainty.
And, most of all, I cried because I hadn’t said a proper goodbye to my daughter.
I had had fantasies of how we’d spend our last night together as a tripod; A special dinner, and then maybe I’d sleep with her that night, since it would be our last time being just us.
As a side note, late in my pregnancy my kid discovered a PBS kids show called Peg and Cat. The theme goes like this:

It is a show that encourages counting and early math. But the lyrics go
“We are two, na na na na na, Me Plus You, na na na na na…”
and every time I would hear this I would think,
“It’s me plus you, girl. It’s us. What the hell are we going to do with a fourth? And a BOY!?” I still get a lump in my throat when I hear that song.
Anyway, back to the hospital.
I was contracting and thinking and perseverating and all of a sudden, I started to cry.
I cried to my mom, really from the pain. “I can’t go another weekend like this.” I said. And I consider myself to be strong. Emotionally, I may be a basketcase, but pain-wise, I am pretty darn tough. But I just knew, much like the first time around, that it was time for this baby to come out.
At about this time my OBGYN showed up. He confirmed what the residents had said, that my cervix was still closed, but added that it had softened a lot, and said that my contractions were really strong and regular on the monitor, inevitably putting stress on my uterus.
“We’re having a birthday party today.” he said.
And then I cried some more.
Out of relief, out of fear, and out of, pardon my french again, the “What the fuck?!” feeling of having planned everything, every last detail, and having it all turned upside down by a sideways (literally) baby.
And I still hadn’t called my husband!
At that point the doctor offered me an epidural for the pain, but I declined. If i couldn’t experience a natural birth, my dream, I’d at least experience natural labor. And that I did. I am no masochist, but it made me feel like I could, at least, have some control over my body.
And so we called my mama friend. She would watch my daughter, and host a playdate with her son, whom my girl refers to as her “prince charming”. And then we called my husband. He was in a big meeting. He was told to rush out. He asked for permission to go home and change out of his suit. He was told no, there was no time.
I was forced to take off my all of my clothes, including my lucky socks. And so when my husband arrived, handsome and dapper in his suit, I had him put on my lucky socks, in their neon purple glory, under his gray slacks and ultimately under his full scrub attire.
The next bit was a blur; I met with anesthesiologists, got an IV, met my labor nurse…it was really happening. And my nurse, Katherine, held my hand and told me I’d be OK, as I told her how scared I was to go into surgery. How unprepared I felt. How my three and a half year old needed me. I am very superstitious and her name starting with a K, the same as my Nanny, comforted me. It was a sign, like the signs I had experienced during my first birth. My angels were there. And there were more of them to come.
But then Katherine told me it was time. So my hair was placed in a net and I was placed in a wheelchair and I hugged my mom and husband tightly. It was time. I couldn’t stop shaking. It was time.
Time to meet my son…
(Stay tuned for more…and it involves some more signs from angels and maybe even a little spontaneous singing in the OR)

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A Birth Story–My Sequel: Part 1

mommyeverafter — Fri, 31 Jan 2014 21:05:24 +0000

Hello, there. Or, to many, I should say Hello, Again. Welcome. Or Welcome Back. Right now, you can find me mostly over at 511 Ever After, but I’ve decided to return for a post that could only be written here; here where my mommy roots are anchored in deep, in stories of joy, enchantment, confusion, pain….my stories from the trenches. So much is different now. First off, I now have two kids. It’s funny; I wrote this post literally a day shy of two years ago. I was grappling with the idea of a second child. And now, spoiler alert!, he’s here. And he’s just as magical as my first baby was, but the experience has been totally different, starting with the birth. If you want to start from the beginning with many of my past stories, including my birth stories, in all 5 parts, you may. Or you can just start here, at the sequel. So, like any good story, let’s start at the beginning. It was a cold morning in March and my husband was out to brunch with my dad and some of their friends. And I was a week late. So I took an old HPT that I had in my linen closet, peed on it, and two lines appeared in 20 seconds. And my daughter was in the bathroom with me. And I said, “Holy shit, I’m pregnant.” And she said “I’m Cinderella.”I was stunned. When trying for our first, we tried. This pregnancy happened immediately. I hadn’t expected it to happen so fast, as we had barely unpacked the boxes in our new house. But I was excited. Thrilled. And I was even more enthused when I had my daughter hand my husband the positive pee stick upon his return home from brunch. Our little family was growing and my heart was bursting. And a lot happened in the 9 months following, and perhaps I’ll go into them some day on here, and perhaps I will not, but for now, I shall cut to the chase. The birth story. In parts. For the last two months of my pregnancy, I was experiencing painful Braxton Hicks contractions; so strong that these moments of uncomfortable tightness would show up strongly on the monitor. I went into labor and delivery 4 times for “false alarms”, as the contractions were present, but not doing anything to induce real labor. I should mention that because of my previous C-Section with my daughter, I was scheduled for a repeat surgery on October 28, 2013. Not only was this a routine repeat, but my little boy, in all his enormous glory, was lying in the transverse position, which means instead of being head down (or, in breach cases, head up) he was lying smack across my stomach. I looked like I was smuggling a watermelon under my shirt. It was ridiculous looking. I was all belly and my belly had a belly. I had mixed feelings leading up to my c-section. I was relieved, in some ways, to have the luxury of planning my second child’s birth; to schedule a day, to make sure that I gave the proper preparations and goodbye to my daughter, to make sure that my nails and toes were perfect….but I was also scared. And pardon my French, but I was scared shitless. I remembered the scary parts of my first C-Section: The Spinal and the feeling of not being able to breathe; the kind anesthesiologist who put a wet sponge to my parched lips; and then the whole BABY thing. The idea of another baby terrified me. And I teach babies. I love babies. I am kind of a baby expert. But I was so scared about how to expand our little tribe. We had things down over here, and I worried, every minute, about going through surgery, surviving surgery, and then surviving parenthood. I grew increasingly nervous as the date approached, talking to my husband, parents, friends and OB. He would refer to the scheduled C date as a “birthday party” and I looked at it as a day of dread. It is hard for me to admit this (especially in hindsight) but I was just terrified. And all of my trips to labor and delivery did nothing to assuage my fears. Four times I said “Bye Bye” to my little girl, saying “We may be going to meet your brother!” and then having to waddle on out hours later with a closed cervix and tons of embarrassment. And pain. And contractions. And, in one case, sleepy baby. And then, at 4 am on the morning of October 24, I awoke out of a dead sleep in pain. Real, can’t really breathe, stomach-tightening pressure and pain. It was so painful that I woke up my husband. I was 38.5 weeks pregnant. My C-Section was scheduled for the following Monday. And so, I said to myself, “Self. You are NOT going in again for a false alarm. You are not. If this means that you are having this giant transverse baby at home in your bathtub so be it.” I even went as far as to pack my daughter’s lunch note reading “Four days until you meet your baby brother!” I gave her a regular kiss goodbye. “See you after school!” I said. But by 10 am when the contractions were becoming more painful and regular, I called my OB. And he asked me if these contractions felt different. And they did. And he told me I had to come in. “It may be party time!” He said. My nails were chipped, my hair was dirty and I had not said goodbye to my daughter. It could not be time. But the contractions were hurting so badly that I was almost in tears. So off to the hospital I went…To be continued…(and trust me, it gets a lot better…)

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Because it’s her day o’ birth and all…

mommyeverafter — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 01:42:01 +0000

I figured I should dig these up from the ol’ archives.
The Birth Story, as told in 5 Chapters.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5–A Happy Ending
Read ‘em and weep, folks. Read ‘em and weep.

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A whole 13.5 months later

mommyeverafter — Sun, 12 Jun 2011 20:22:37 +0000

and the notion that we are parents to this sweet, remarkable little girl still takes our breath away.
Just this afternoon, as our little girl stood up and grabbed her daddy’s leg in a squishy-baby-skinned-embrace,
he looked at me, his eyes round and wet,
and asked me, awestricken,”Am I really her daddy? When did I become her daddy?”
And I had to remind him of this.
And as he spouted off her birth stats from memory,
(You were born at 2:22am on April 18. 7 pounds. 12 ounces. 21 inches.)
she shook his leg,
shouting “Hi Dada! Dada! Dada! Hi Dada!”
She’s a real person now.
She is no longer a new baby
and he is no longer a new Daddy.
A new daddy, no,
but the best daddy,
most certainly, yes.
These two,
they’ve come a long way.
And when I stare at them,
standing together,
their gazes locked,
with their eyes crinkling the same way,
I think back to that day when my guy became her daddy.
I remember how she loved him instantly, before I was strong enough to hold her, or brave enough to burp her.
I remember looking at my husband, who had barely even held a baby before,
and thinking, “I have never seen a more natural father in my life. He was born to be her dad.”
And I remember struggling to catch my breath, as I said, My, how I’m lucky they’re mine.
And now, as her tiny, pink feet are strong enough to stand upon,
and she now weighs more than 7 pounds, 12 ounces,
I realize that it’s not just her body that has grown.
So has our incredible, immeasurable love for her.
So have our hearts.

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On this Saturday night last year,

mommyeverafter — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 00:48:54 +0000

this was happening.
My water broke,
my contractions were three minutes apart,
my mom and dad and husband and I were crowded in a small, somewhat scary delivery room,
as we braced ourselves to meet our girl.
Tonight,
I split a piece of pizza with my daughter,
and made two dozen cupcakes,
and constructed my girl’s favorite character out of fondant,
and my mom and dad and husband and I crowded around the CD player, as we danced to Stevie Wonder and Madcon,
passing our daughter around as she kicked her legs and shimmied her shoulders and boogied on down with us to the music.
Last year was contractions and a c-section,
this year was coziness and some ‘honey suckle chocolate dripping kisses full of love for you’.
So,
what I’m trying to say is,
this year, for the win!

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One-der

mommyeverafter — Sat, 16 Apr 2011 13:31:39 +0000

One year ago today,
on a cloudy Saturday, much like this one,
my day would prove to be my last on earth
P.M.;
Pre-Mommy.
My birth story,
though already begun, was far from over. But I did not know that, yet. All I knew was that I was ready to meet my little darling.
This morning, I spent much of an hour lying on my daughter’s floor, staring at her face,
a face that still makes me weak.
And because I was too caught up in her bow lips and neverending eyelashes to notice, she managed to get her arm stuck in her drawer.
And she cried, and when I rescued her poor little arm from the clutches,
she held me, with both of her arms, and rested her head on my chest,
and clung to me.
Because I am her mommy.
I make it all better.
And even though it’s been a whole long year,
this whole mommy thing still takes my breath away.
Yes, a whole year later
and I still look on at her,
at us,
and at all that we have become
in wonder.

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