From Day One

I was tired. More tired than I remember being the first time. More tired than I expected being.

Probably the loss of blood and the depletion of iron; anemia. I didn't care.

Everything was different the second time around. It was summer, not winter. The birth was scheduled, not an emergency. I was already a mother. This time I had more experience than my baby. I was having a boy. I was scared but ready.

It felt good. It felt natural. It felt amazing.

He was different, too. He seemed to soak up my experience and morph it into a warm blanket of security; confidence beyond his minutes. He became calm the moment he heard my voice, he latched painlessly right away. He slept in my arms.

He never made a sound as the nurses wheeled his bassinet into the room, saying "Mama, you have one HONGRY boy." But he never cried. I had to laugh as his wide open eyes looked my way through the clear plastic cot; mouth opening and closing like a prize fish.

My son. I never wanted to let him go. The nurses had to come and find him and take him back to their florescent lit lair for weigh-ins and check-ups. I often awoke to them clucking satisfied when they found us dozing together, and felt cool air hit the place his tiny form was keeping warm.

I remember the anxious waiting for the biggest introduction of my life; the moment big sister would meet little brother. It felt like days and crept by. She was crying with happiness when she looked at his tiny face, she begged to open his blanket so she could look at his hands.

"I love your baby, mama. He's so cute."

"You know ... he's your baby, too."

"I love my new baby!"

**Wishing you, Rebecca, and you, Kristin, all the best a new baby has to give. Peace. Joy. Hope