Melanie Tatuta, GPC Student
My
First Morning as a Mother
She
was finally here: nine pounds three ounces Alexia, born half a day ago after
thirty-two long and painful hours of labor. She was now quietly resting in her
tiny bed next to mine, undisturbed by the loud cracks of the thunder and the
noise of pouring rain hitting our hospital window. I felt exhausted, both
mentally and physically. Every part of my body seemed to hurt from the pains of
childbirth and more than forty hours of sleep and food deprivation. My weary
mind had trouble focusing on the day’s events, wandering in incoherent
thoughts. It would take me a few hours of sleep and the morning light to fully
realize the scale of the miracle that had just taken place in my life.
The first rays of the sun finally
came, and seemed to shed a whole new light on our family. As I opened my eyes
after barely three hours of rest interrupted by multiple nurse visits, I saw my
husband Daniel still asleep on the pale green recliner chair at the foot of my
bed. He was breathing loudly, plunged in deep slumber, his limbs uncomfortably
positioned on the little bit of space available around his body. To my left was
my baby, laying on her side in the warmer, dressed in a pink-stripped pajama
too big for her curled-up little body. I admired her dark hair, her minuscule
fingernails, her ruby plump lips and the long lashes she inherited from her
dad. I thought her skin had its own unique scent, fresh and clean with a touch
of baby powder fragrance. I lightly touched her hand. It felt soft like velvet
and light as a feather, and most importantly it was warm with life. I could not
believe we were finally three. The two people I loved the most in the world
looked so peaceful and beautiful in their rest. I felt unbelievable joy as I
thought of how our lives were now forever connected by the miracle of life.
A
short while later, a shy African-American lady dressed in an impeccable purple
uniform brought me a breakfast tray that would turn out to contain one of the
most touching little attentions I would receive from the staff at Gordon
Hospital[i].
Next to my sliced peaches in light syrup, my corn flakes and my individual
serving of milk, was a small tract from the American Bible Society entitled
“The Lord Is Our Creator." Inside,
was an excerpt of Psalm 139 that included the following words: “You are the one
who put me together inside my mother’s body, and I praise you because of the
wonderful way you created me.” The words moved me deeply, bringing tears to my
eyes, as I thought of how I felt God had entrusted me with this new life,
creating her so perfect and innocent, so fragile and dependent on me. I needed
to be the best I could be. I needed to teach her though my example. It was my
responsibility to protect her, to care for her, to instill in her a passion for
things that are good and beautiful.
The time to be discharged finally
came after what felt like hours of advice from Mrs. Neal, my sweet middle-age
nurse. Daniel and I carefully packed all our belongings, flowers, and greeting
cards, as well as dozens of complimentary samples and gifts from the hospital
including baby lotion, a thermometer, a box of wipes, extra-thick sanitary pads
and a large turquoise drinking mug. A nurse assistant slowly pushed my
wheelchair through a maze of carpeted halls and out on the shiny marble floor
of the lobby as I held Alexia, securely strapped in her blue car seat decorated
with animals in bright colors. I felt like every passer-by was looking at my
baby. I thought every person around me could see her the same way I did,
admiring her round face, her brown eyes and her delicate hands moving in an
uncoordinated manner. But now I know they would have needed my eyes and my
heart to feel as I did. As I slowly proceeded outside, the smell of grass and
flower beds came as a nice change from the antiseptic aroma that was overly
present in the delivery room. My husband then carefully installed the car seat
in our 1999 Volkswagen Jetta and the two of us drove off with our precious
cargo, the rays of the sun blinding our tired eyes and our chests just about to
burst with pride and joy.
I think that no one except
Daniel could have guessed how magic that morning felt to me and how crisp were
the feelings that flooded my heart. Hundreds of insignificant details would stay
forever engraved in my mind. I often go back to my memories of this moment,
trying to recapture the intensity of my emotions, the power of my determination
to be the best I could for Alexia and the dreams I created for our family that
morning of June 8, 2002. In those few
hours, sitting in my quiet hospital room, surrounded by pastel colors and
flower patterns, bathing in the light of a new day, with Daniel and Alexia at
arm’s reach, I was focused on the essentials of my existence: hope for the
future, faith and love.