A Year Ago Tonight


One year ago tonight, you moved your home from my womb to my breast. The full moon was on our side and even though you were born in the wee hours of the morning, not a second of the work felt dark. The first time our eyes met, I swore I was holding the soul of a little old woman. "It's okay now. It's going to be okay," you said by barely crying before lying calmly on my chest. Your silence, your stillness following such a loud battle--it was the most sacred experience of life. Sweet Reed, you came right on time and you were magic for me from that moment on.

I cannot begin to thank you for the healing, for choosing me, for being there to lie your head against my chest in that same quiet way every day for the last year.  Your very being simply asks of me, "Just be here now, Mama!" and I can say I've done more of that in your first journey around the sun than I have in all of my time before you. And because of that, you have been the most incredible gift to your sister as well. There is a special reason she has never shown typical older sibling feelings toward you. You helped heal her, too. 

Our Reed, we gave you your name because it means a clearing or open space and we thought that was what we needed. But if turns out you are a meadow full of the most vibrant, fragrant flowers. You've opened up my senses and taught me how to breathe it all in (and let me smell your head about two million times doing so). If I could love you more, I know I would. 

Happy birthday, my darling girl.