Of Fear, Breath and First Cry
The day I once dreaded the most has become the day I am most grateful for. It was the most painful day of my life, yet also the most humbling one. My old self, once so pessimistic, would never have believed I could come this far.
I once thought I would end up on a completely different path, but God's plans go far beyond the limits of my understanding.
The first time I heard your cries, I cried too. Not only from joy, but from an overwhelming storm of pain, shock, and a body that was still trying to recover from the agony it had endured. I still remember the IV drip— the clear fluid making its way into my veins, so silent and effortless, leaving a permanent imprint that somehow still haunts me, like a ghost lingering in my dreams.
The bed trembled beneath me because every time a contraction came, it no longer felt like a wave that came and went. It rose like a tide with nowhere to run, swallowing every breath I tried to take. I remember gripping your father's hand, pulling his hair, searching for something—anything—to hold on to as the pain consumed me.
They told me it was only a drip. But I never knew such an ordinary word, such a small 'only', could unravel every ounce of strength I thought I had.
I had heard people say that the moment a baby is born, an immediate wave of relief would wash over the mother. But forgive me, my son. I was still afraid—of hospitals, of doctors, of everything that felt unfamiliar to me, and the labour only heightened my fear and discomfort.
Yet even through all that fear, a quiet joy began to bloom in my heart the moment I saw you. Even though my birth experience didn't go as planned, it's something I'll always miss—the experience of becoming a mother for the first time, with you.
And that's when I met both the strongest and weakest version of myself, too. I walked in as a daughter and walked out as a mother. It was something I would always be grateful for.
If I could turn back time, I would freeze that moment—just to keep your innocent little face exactly as it was in those first few seconds of life. It was the most euphoric feeling I had ever experienced— one I could never truly put into words.
And no matter where life takes you, you will always find your way home to me.
Happy birthday, my first baby. May you grow older and wiser with grace.
I once thought I would end up on a completely different path, but God's plans go far beyond the limits of my understanding.
The first time I heard your cries, I cried too. Not only from joy, but from an overwhelming storm of pain, shock, and a body that was still trying to recover from the agony it had endured. I still remember the IV drip— the clear fluid making its way into my veins, so silent and effortless, leaving a permanent imprint that somehow still haunts me, like a ghost lingering in my dreams.
The bed trembled beneath me because every time a contraction came, it no longer felt like a wave that came and went. It rose like a tide with nowhere to run, swallowing every breath I tried to take. I remember gripping your father's hand, pulling his hair, searching for something—anything—to hold on to as the pain consumed me.
They told me it was only a drip. But I never knew such an ordinary word, such a small 'only', could unravel every ounce of strength I thought I had.
I had heard people say that the moment a baby is born, an immediate wave of relief would wash over the mother. But forgive me, my son. I was still afraid—of hospitals, of doctors, of everything that felt unfamiliar to me, and the labour only heightened my fear and discomfort.
Yet even through all that fear, a quiet joy began to bloom in my heart the moment I saw you. Even though my birth experience didn't go as planned, it's something I'll always miss—the experience of becoming a mother for the first time, with you.
And that's when I met both the strongest and weakest version of myself, too. I walked in as a daughter and walked out as a mother. It was something I would always be grateful for.
If I could turn back time, I would freeze that moment—just to keep your innocent little face exactly as it was in those first few seconds of life. It was the most euphoric feeling I had ever experienced— one I could never truly put into words.
And no matter where life takes you, you will always find your way home to me.
Happy birthday, my first baby. May you grow older and wiser with grace.
 |
| That hospital corridor. The one I walked through on my way to the PAC, bleeding at four in the morning. |
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A few nice words can help a person more than you think.