Let me hold this memory with gentle hands, the moment the room erupted with joy and love, the moment they lay you, my first-born, on my chest.

The fears of unknown futures and anguish of weeks of  bed rest – gone. You were beautiful and noisy and healthy. The relief was complete.

You changed my life forever, in ways of wonder and joy.

You had made quite an entrance, with people coming and going and layers of schedules meaning double the staff and it was chaotic and noisy and then, everyone, you included, were gone. And all I could think of was I needed you. We had not been apart in more than eight months.

The years ahead were ones in which I wondered and doubted and faltered; everything was new, and I forgot too often to listen to my heart. I wanted to recapture that moment, when they lay you on my chest, and I knew exactly what to do.

When I think of that memory, the memory I hold with gentle hands, I am propelled forward, when you turned the world around back to me, and emboldened me to find a new path of joy and fulfillment. You encouraged me with your loving, gentle heart.

*

Let me hold this memory with gentle hands, the moment you, my baby girl, lay within my arms, newly born.

Your appearance in the world was slow and fast. Ten hours of labour, too few minutes of pushing for the doctor to ‘glove up’. I wanted to see your eyes, but you were not quite ready to greet the world.

You came to us with very little sound, very little effort. You slept and cooed and stretched in the new space of the world. That moment was opposite to the future. Everything ahead was noisy and wonderful and arguments and hugs and baking and colouring. Haircuts with craft scissors. Books and bobby pins. Your smiles and other spontaneous, exuberant expressions of joy.

When I think of that memory, that first day memory which I hold with gentle hands, it was not until last August at your wedding when the world stood that still again.

I felt your breath when you were born, up against my cheek as I pulled you close.

I felt your breath as you walked down the aisle, up against the love surrounding you.

*

These are the memories I hold of my children, with gentle hands and an open heart.

 

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