This may not be the most popular opinion around here, but the other part of labor, the part I didn’t mention, was how stunningly beautiful my wife was in the midst of it.  I know she isn’t supposed to be beautiful.  Ragged, maybe.  Worn, certainly.  And, for her maybe, tough.  Gritty.  Hard.  Instead, she was beautiful.  Raw, yes.  More than a little sweaty.  Strong.  Exquisite.

My admiration for her hasn’t faded in the two weeks since she gave birth.  I’m not surprised – labor and delivery was an astounding accomplishment and, let’s face it, she produced a gorgeous baby.  However, it’s unexpected how much I find myself marvelling at how beautiful she was in the moment.  Not a day passes that I don’t think of it and wonder how, above everything else, this is what I remember (and value) most about the birth.

I remember that late afternoon with the rain lashing the windows and trees whipping sideways, that we worked in a storm-dimmed room accompanied by muted thunder, steady, soft beeping, synced breathing and quiet encouragement.  She rocked through each contraction, forehead and hair dripping, positively glowing through this amazingly hard thing, and I gripped her hand and held on.

I can’t do her justice, or that moment, but it catches me at odd moments and I think, I’m married to the most incredible person.  I’m partly snared in that scene and I think I might be, happily so, forever.

3 Responses

  1. Beautiful!

  2. that was so sweet…

  3. This was so beautiful. Thanks for sharing…

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: