Image used w/ permission of Dot Samuel of Psalms of Samuel in Watercolor.
(To see more of her beautiful work, click here.)
They counted to three and, working together, swung me from bed to table. Strange to witness their strain when I felt nearly weightless; I am a pendulum, I thought, tugged by time. I am floating; I have become a boat on water, or perhaps I am the water itself. On command, I spread my arms wide, and I won't lie: I thought of Christ crucified and wondered--as my doctor flayed me open like a fish--if I were about to die.
I felt no pain in the slicing: only a great tug, and my doctor lifted out the baby I could not touch. Later (after they'd swung me back to bed), someone handed that child to me. He latched with ferocity onto my breast and tugged out everything I had, and for the first time I believed the whispers I'd heard for years: a baby boy, and neither of you will die in getting him here.
**Please click here to continue reading about Baby Chip's arrival and what I'm taking from it. A big thank you to Emily Wierenga for the opportunity to share, today, with the Imperfect Prose community: one place where I always feel like I belong.