Day 3

Prompt: Moment. 

Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. 

Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).

The most alive I've felt- not only this year, but the most alive ever- was seeing her for the first time.

The room was dark, as if I were doing some reading before bed- only a few lights on in different parts of the large space. I was never fully aware of the time of day. I tried counting the number of people in the room, but would get distracted by a contraction or pure tiredness. It took time concentrating to match the voices with the people I was looking at, and it was all a little surreal.

It's ironic that the moment I most remember is the moment I forgot everything.

I can look back now and see what I didn't see then; the nurses carrying her to a little warming bed, the flash of the cameras, the cold, wet washcloth on my forehead, and the feel of her damp hair on the tips of my fingers. I can remember the ache in my fingers from gripping the sides of the bed. I can remember the staff telling me when to push and counting to ten, and I remember thinking there was no way I could push for ten whole seconds. I remember knowing there was no way I could really do it. And then suddenly, I did.

People ask what my first thought is when I saw her, but for me, it's a pure white moment of no thoughts at all. I couldn't think about how she looked or whose traits she had, her size or how her little eyes seemed a bit swollen after the long, long day.

I guess my first conscious thought about it all, as I held her in my arms, was, "This is my daughter. Finally, beautifully, she's here. She's here."