I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well. Psalm 139:14
Lying here with your velvet skin pressed against my belly, your sleep mouth still suckling, I try to reach through the fog of time to that moment of birth. The orgasmic feel of your head thrusting me open. The midwife saying "Go ahead and touch the head. The baby is right there." And I reached down to the miracle of your slick hair. I looked in wonderment at your father. It did not matter that we had performed this bit of magic three other times. The moment you left my womb for the cold air of the outside is always a moment suspended from the reality of everyday life. That moment when you are still half me and half you is an eternal second.
With the second push, your shoulders slip out, and then another to push out your round belly, and you are pulled out and up onto my naked belly. I pull you to my body as I am holding you now. You are miraculous. Covered in birth, you are fearful. The moment of birth is fearful in the sense of awe fear. It is a tentative moment, tenuous so close to both death and life. And then there is the quiet perfection of a nose, an ear, the tiniest of fingers. Even now I am in awe that somehow you grew inside me....wonderful made in the darkness of my own body. And as I hold you, I believe in God. I praise my own body made in the image of God. Fearful and wonderful.