Josie Ann. Our little girl.
Three weeks ago she burst onto our scene. Early in the still-dark morning of a January day, I felt the pangs of labor begin to start.
Labor, what an accurate word. It isn’t a word of pain and anguish, but it isn’t an easy word either. It’s a word that fits itself. It was labor, it was hard work – an exhausting 5 hours of intense concentration and contractions with short rests in between and much loving support. It was almost poetic, an inward focusing on the body that was designed in love to bear and bring forth life. And then it came. The most intense feeling that I have ever felt – she was coming. The cry I made could not be contained inside my body. I cried out and gave it everything I had. And all of a sudden she was here, a huge release of tension as a floppy little human was handed to me by my husband. With her blue cord still attaching her to me, I reached out and pulled her to my chest in utter disbelief. I searched her body and face with my eyes and hands, wanting to know her right away, wanting to memorize this person. Her back was the softest thing I’ve ever touched, her face so adorably squished from labor, she was tiny and she was here, sitting on my chest. After all those months of carrying her inside of me, I could finally carry her in my arms.
The last few weeks have been a foggy dream. My eyes heavy almost every day, but my heart full. Our home has become a cozy den of warmth where the memories of these early weeks as a family of four will forever be contained.
Jonah has been an amazing big brother and I feel like has grown into a full little boy over night. He will randomly come over and kiss or (gently) touch Josie on the head and say “I love you” before he runs to the other room shouting “I’m the Red Robocar!”
And this little girl, this little Josephine. We are still getting to know each other. I study her face multiple times a day, and my heart skips a beat whenever I see her lips curl upward with that adorable smile (even if it is just a reflex at this point). She loves to be held. She still makes those adorable newborn coos that no other creature on this planet can make. She is wonderful and I can’t wait to watch her grow.
Life has changed drastically, and I am not sure I really even realize how much yet. There are discoveries to be made everyday, Some will be harder, sleep-deprived, walking-through-the-mud-of-parenting moments, but we are ready. Because those moments, along with the, golden-hour, giggling, cooing, laughing and playing moments will make up our lives together, and it will be grand.
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