I stared at her laying beside me, her tiny body still so new and the sounds she was making foreign to me.
I couldn’t believe I had made her.
The dimly lit room gave her eyes a rest and Brian time to sleep while she and I bonded. Her little fingers laying in mine, her face perfect, and breast feeding going just right (the only time that it would).
There was no pressure to be the perfect mother in that room.
I didn’t have to pay the bills, clean the house, cook a meal, make the beds, tidy the toys, read the stories, fix the dolls, or sort and organize.
It was just me and her.
Holding on to one another, getting to know each other on the outside, feeling all of the feelings.
Listening to her breath in and out, watching her chest rise and fall, counting all of her fingers, kissing her little toes. This is what I was waiting for. The euphoric feelings overwhelmed me and carried me on a cloud I would soon crash down from, hard. But I didn’t know that yet.
This is what motherhood felt like?
I was so happy.
I think back to that room, that time, that moment so often. I close my eyes and see that space, the monitors, the blue and pink and white baby blanket wrapped around my new little baby.
I remember the feelings of weightlessness, unconditional love, incredible accomplishment, and pride.
I can see Brian’s face, his love for me; for us and I remember watching his love for me grow from the minute he saw his daughter.
There in that room I was safe. I didn’t know what Postpartum Depression was, I had never suffered from depression, I didn’t know the struggles of mental illness, and I was surrounded by intense joy.
There will always be apart of me that misses that room and those moments.
Some days I will sink into my memories and linger awhile.
Where the blue walls and metal framed beds hold my sanity.
And I will wish for one more day.