Inspired by an online collective for photographer's that my husband is a part of (Luminous Traces) I decided I wanted to create my own for writers. We would be sister sites and do the same topics, one a week, that each writer would tackle in his/her own way. Together with my newly re-found platonic soul mate, Andee, we launched Literary Traces on March 31, 2013. With 6 other amazing writers we each tackle a day. I post every Tuesday. Here is my first post from Literary Traces. Our topic was Senses and each writer was assigned a different sense. Mine was touch. Enjoy
Watching
my belly undulate under my shirt I couldn’t wait to hold this tiny
person for the first time. Only a few more weeks, I would tell myself.
My arms ached to hold her.
I
was expecting our first child and had been put on bedrest due to
uncontrollable contractions. I wasn’t in labor, the doctor would assure
me, but they didn’t want to take any chances. Either did we. My husband
and I had tried and tried for this little person. I had fallen so deeply
in love with her at the first sight of that positive test, taken the
morning of my 30th birthday.
Now,
here I was in bed during a beautiful Vermont summer watching my belly
move and wiggle with the life that it contained. I couldn’t help but
worry. Would the currently painless and harmless contractions get worse?
Would they throw me into irreversible pre-term labor? Would she be ok?
My arms ached to hold her.
The
first of a string of worries that comes with parenthood. A near
constant worry for the safety/well being/happiness of someone you love
more than you’d ever imagine. It also felt like the start of my
relationship with my daughter.
Before
being assigned to my bed I lead a normal, active and sometimes busy
life. Preparing for our daughter’s arrival and working full time kept me
busy. There would be days that I would only have a few moments to
really give my pregnancy, and the baby within my, full attention.
But
now, now I was focusing on her 100% of the time. Undivided attention
was given to her flutters and kicks. I learned that she loved for me to
gently push back when she pushed out with her feet. I also came to know
that she loved having her back rubbed. Something that nearly 3 years
later still holds true. If she became restless all it would take is a
rub of my belly and her daddy’s voice. With every one of her movements I
could feel my worries melt away little by little. I was getting to know
my daughter weeks before meeting her.
The aching in my arms to hold her grew stronger.
After
nearly 6 weeks of bed rest I was allowed to resume normal activity. It
was safe to go into labor. I was ready when she was. Two weeks later she
arrived. Labor was hard and I was scared. My worry peaked with every
centimeter that I didn’t dilate. Every contraction brought me closer to
finally holding her and with it more worries. 10.5 hours later our
daughter entered the world.
She was perfect. Beyond perfect. We were in love. We were a family.
I
wrapped my arms around my daughter for the first time, feeling the
warmth and weight of her just born body. “There you are.” I said to her.
Her cries quieted. My heart swelled. I was finally touching my baby.
My arms no longer ached.
I
started to cry as I looked at this perfect little being. The product of
my husband and I. Through squinty newborn eyes she looked up at me and
reached up with her minutes old hand and touched my face.
32
months later and she will still reach up and put her hand on my face.
If I am upset, she will tell me everything is ok and rub my face. If she
is tired she lays in my arms and reaches up for a light touch. It is
her way of connecting with me and, for a moment, it is just her and I.
All my worries melt away.
I focus, once again, on my daughters touch.
