March 6, 2003.
It was a Thursday. Cold, like, -40 cold.
I hadn’t slept in 2 days and I had just brought a 9 pound, 5 oz baby into the world without the benefit of drugs.
I still looked pregnant. Everything felt sore and wrong. I wanted to sleep and eat and shower, all at the same glorious time, and I couldn’t do any of it.
To top the whole thing off, I was in charge of this small, screaming person.
I was in a place that smelled and felt and looked weird, and my whole world had turned inside out on itself, and I was supposed to be someone’s mom, now.
I had no idea how to do that.
So I cried for a while. Didn’t help. I tried all the things the nurses suggested, trying not to feel stupid that someone else had to tell me what to do.
And when we were alone, finally, I stared at his little face. With its perfect little upturned nose. And a million little eyelashes, and a chin that looked like it would have my dimple, one day. His wild swirls of hair, his pink fingernails, his fuzzy little back.
I still didn’t feel like I knew how to be a mom. But I knew I loved him. And I figured that might just be a big part of it.
And so, I sang to him. A song whose lyrics I would later realize, upon deeper analysis, were all kinds of emotionally fucked up. Which, in retrospect, was absolutely perfect for that moment.
Day 7 – A Song That Reminds You of a Certain Event
You Are My Sunshine