Do you see that baby in the picture? It's me. It's me holding your finger, mom, asking you to take me back in my arms, to put me back on your chest, because in my very short life I've had a hard time a few times, and honestly, I understand very little everything what's going on.
I was born yesterday, and I've thought about telling it to anyone who wants to read my story.
It was early in the morning when it all started: "I'm ready," my body told yours, and began some slight and brief contractions that gradually became more intense, more lasting and more rhythmic.
All of them, little by little, they brought me a little closer to you, and although I cannot describe very well what I felt, because I had never experienced it before, I can tell you that it was tired, but exciting, unpredictable, but exciting, and weird, but too expected, and that's why I struggled to leave as soon as possible.
I had to say goodbye to what had been my home for so many weeks, dark and warm, to return to you from the outside, and although I was aware that it was a very short road, it was hours of impatience and desire to feel, smell and touch you. And to see you, also to see you.
Thus came the moment when I began to notice that it was beginning to be born. It was very strange, especially that moment, because I felt that my head was totally pressed. But you know? I noticed soon that the temperature was changing. I noticed the outside air in my hair, in my head, and little by little I felt that I was getting closer to the outside.
I finally got the full head: How cold! And there I stood still for a moment, just a moment to gain strength, which helped me to realize that the exterior was much weirder than I imagined: Why so much light ?! Somebody help me, I come from the dark!
Oops! As one who stands still in front of the biggest slide he has ever seen, hesitant about the possibility of experiencing too many emotions and end up having a bad time, and receives a push from behind, I noticed that your body made a final squeeze that quickly slipped me out.
There I lost control for a moment. There I felt the force of gravity for the first time. There I opened my arms trying to hold on to something, with my breath held, trying to save my life; I felt the cold in my whole body, the light in my eyes, and heard all the voices. Many voices, happy and excited ... too many sensations to decipher them all.
And there you were !!
You took me with your trembling but firm hands, wet, even in your eyes, and you took me to your chest to protect me while you said "Hello little one! Hello, beautiful! My child!".
The cold began to decrease as it was in your arms, in contact with your chest. I never thought I could be so warm with you. The initial fright of leaving your belly, that wonderful home where I floated with no more concern than growing up, to move on to a world, your world, where I felt helpless, fragile and at the mercy of the rest, was disappearing to give way to calm. I suppose you already know what I am talking about: that feeling that you experience when stressed, nervous, even more unable to explode, you receive a hug that gradually returns you to calm. You even sigh as if with each strong breath you get all that tension out of your mouth.
And dad made us this photo that he decided to put in black and white for making it more artistic. As you can see, I tried to look at him to correspond to his interest, but in my hand I had something important: your chest. And they say that babies come to the world prepared, especially for two things. One is to cling to mom, whose taste and smell we know better than anyone; and the other is to seek comfort and food through his chest.
A mouth on instinctive position, fully prepared to breastfeed, wishing to make the first suctions that serve to establish what many know as the "oral imprint", the confirmation that breastfeeding is done just as a baby does on the first occasions.
And that I did: I folded my legs and in an energetic but awkward movement I crawled up to your chest. My flimsy neck allowed me to nod three or four times over him, with my mouth open, to rejoin you after that short separation: Mom, I needed to fill myself, somehow, with you again. The cord no longer nourishes me or feeds, now I depend on you, can I?
And you caressed me, and I felt your look of love and your words of love, and how with your arms you held me firmly disappearing in seconds those fears of who has never had his baby in his arms and wonders if he will know how to catch it when the time comes. And of course you knew: you didn't want to let go and I didn't want you to let go. And so I began to realize that there, precisely there, I would always be safe.
I know there are people who insist on making parents believe that it is very important that we have our space: a crib, a bassinet, a beautiful room with pastel tones and teddy bears. All very beautiful, but hardly comparable to what our place is: your body, mom. I wouldn't care if I didn't have a room, or all those gadgets, if I have you. Because my home is you, mom. My house is you.
With you I spent my first hours of life and then something happened that I did not understand. Some relatives came who wanted to hold me in my arms. Even a nurse advised you to leave me in my crib so I wouldn't get used to your arms, minutes after another told you exactly the opposite. You thanked the advice, rejected the arms of others, unknown to me, and said something I loved: "I've been waiting for nine months. I have no desire or intention to release it."
When everyone left, Dad went for some food for him, and for you an impressive ham sandwich that looked great. It was short-lived, perhaps because you wanted to eat it, perhaps because you wanted to recover from Dad's arms.
Calm down, mom. Dad is yours, apparently. He took me in a very sweet way, approached me to his chest and rocked me rocking me, still looking at me for a second. He could not believe that I was so perfect ... I could not believe that he was so small, so light, so little, and his doubts also dissipated quickly. I relaxed a lot with him and he felt very good. He felt capable: "This little boy so helpless is very calm with me. I, who have never taken such a small baby in my arms, have managed to trust me." And I know that from that moment He decided to always take care of me in the best possible way.
Yesterday I was born, mom and dad, and I know I could not have chosen a mom and dad better than you, because love is not going to be missing, nor will you be missing from me.
Just one thing: bear with me. It is what many people lack: patience. Patience and time, in fact. Because one thing goes with the other. I am small, and I come back to a world that is going too fast for me. A world that seems to no longer expect babies to be born, based on how everything works. I will do my best to adapt as soon as I can, but don't be angry if I don't always get it. Your obligations and schedules are not mine, and if changing them is unlikely, modify my rhythms it will be impossible.
You may not know it, but it is often said that having a baby today is so, so hard, because we come from the roots of life, free, willing to tear you from that monotonous life that looks more to the future than to the present. , in a continuous desire to get that something that seems to never come, to realize, at that moment, that you missed almost everything trying to be who the others expected you to be.
But well, we'll talk about this, today is only tomorrow. Yesterday's tomorrow And we have a lot of work ahead. Patience, time, lots of love, and the conviction that maybe we are born today we have an opportunity to remain as free as we are born.
I love you, mom and dad. Much.
Photos | iStock
