I remember the first time I held you. I cried. I cried because I was so scared, my body wasn’t strong enough to keep you safe and healthy.
I had been sick a week before I had you with the worst flu. I was in the hospital on New Years Eve, alone because your Dad had to stay with your brother. No one could watch him, because everyone had been sick.
I laid in that bed, missing your Dad, and brother on the night of a new year. But I wasn’t alone, because you were there with me. Your heart was slowing down, because my fever had been so high. They had to keep me over night, so they could monitor you.
The day of your birth, the contractions effected your heart rate. They had to deliver you with help. You had a cone head, sorry. I thought the pain would never end, I felt all of it, for a much longer period of time, than with your brother. I was brainlessly not pressing the button to administer more drugs to numb my bottom half so the pain wouldn’t be so crazy. But when you came out…
The world had stopped. The tears began to fall. What I had feared, has arrived. I was afraid to have you. To have a girl. Because, everything that I am took buckets of tears, and long, lonely nights. I never wanted you to feel an ounce of it. I never want to see your heart break, because as girls, we feel more. I didn’t want to see your disappointments, because we have a harder time accepting them. I didn’t want to ever see tears fall from your eyes, because when they do, it tends to hurt more. But you were here, and I was going to have to do whatever it takes to help you become stronger than I am, help you through the toughest moments in life, because I am, your mother.