Fourteen years ago today, my world changed forever, I had my first child, my son. It wasn’t the typical go to the hospital, push and go home kind of story.
No, my experience flipped the script when the morphine that was administered to me made its way to my baby boy.
I won’t lie, the morphine felt like bliss in that moment, it took away every ounce of pain. But while I was floating, fear was quietly creeping in. Watching other women go through the process of bringing life into the world, I wasn’t sure if I wanted a vaginal birth. Deep down, I was convinced I wanted the other option.
And so, I got what I wanted, minus the pain, plus the scars.
This child, my child, came with a bang! And by bang, I mean he greeted the world with a huge poop. Almost as if to say, “Momma, you brought me out too early!” After nearly 42 weeks of chilling in the womb, he was in no rush, but when he did arrive, he made sure it was unforgettable.
He was beautiful. His father and I fell in love with him at first sight. I remember cradling him through the night, even though I was still drugged up and sore from my C-section. None of that mattered. In that moment, I was simply a mom holding her miracle.
Now, 14 years later, I look at the young man he’s becoming. His life may have shifted, not living under the same roof with both of his parents in recent times, but he’s learning, growing, and adjusting to everything life has placed in front of him. And through it all, he continues to carry the same strength and spark that he entered this world with.
I am grateful for him. He is the first human who ever called me “Mom,” and that alone is one of life’s greatest honors.
I love you, my boy. Always.
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