I was scrolling through my husband’s phone looking for any Corrine pics I hadn’t yet seen or saved to my phone. I came across a series of photos in the OR that I hadn’t seen before. Before they cleaned Corrine up, I got a sneak peek of her tiny wrinkled feet hanging over the surgical drape. Those footprints are etched in my memory and on my heart.
A few weeks ago I posted about things no one tells you about motherhood. How hard breastfeeding is, how tired you’ll be, and how dependent your baby is on you. On some level I expected them and accepted them easily. The one thing I didn’t expect?
Her crying. More specifically, how it affects me. I force myself to hold back tears when she cries. Sometimes she’s overly tired, sometimes it’s gas, sometimes she can’t find my nipple because she won’t open her eyes. Luckily most of her cries can be quieted immediately if I know the cause, but they rip me to pieces. It’s all I can do to not cry right along with her. I would give anything to make her feel better, happier, or more rested. I’d say her pain is my pain, but it’s so much more. Her cries take me back to this scene – where she made her entrance into the world. This beautiful moment when I saw her tiny feet for the first time and fell in love.
You see that wonderful woman holding my daughter over the surgical drape? She’s the only person in the world who has seen both of my girls. She brought both of them into this world. The first time in the OR with her, only one person was crying – a first time mom being wheeled in and out sobbing tears of grief. The second time, a mom crying tears of joy and happiness because she could hear the cries of her precious newborn but also tears of longing for the first.
Corrine’s cries are as beautiful to me as they are painful. As hard as it is for me to see her cry, I am also so thankful. Those wails mean she’s here and she’s alive and she needs me.