Our world is small.  Just a hospital bed-sized little corner of the world that is ours. Soft, deep blue eyes meet mine, clouded with tears. You’re finally here…

Blink.  Blink.  Yes, you’re still here…

Perfect pink lips part, a wide yawn escapes. I can’t blame you, after 28 hours of fighting to come into this world, you have every right to be tired. I can’t help but smile as you squeak.  It sounds like you’re saying “Hi”.

I’m tired.

But I can’t sleep.

Tiny fingers extend. I count them. 1-2-3-4-5. Perfect. Your little hand wraps around my baby finger. My heart swells until I feel it may burst with love.

Lying on my side, knees bent, my body cocooning you, maternal instincts keeping you close, keeping you safe.

I close my eyes and breathe in the smell of new birth.  Such a foreign smell.  Not what I was expecting. Not baby powder and vanilla, as some would lead you to believe.

The sun finds us exactly as the moon left us, not having moved an inch.

The noisy morning of the hospital can’t find us here. We are alone in the world. Mother and Child. Skin to skin.

Your tiny body squirms into wakefulness. You quietly open your eyes, blue as the deepest ocean, scanning…until you meet mine. Our gazes lock.

You are mine.

I created this life.

And life will never be the same.

My Peanut at 5 minutes old


This post is brought to you by The Red Dress Club. The challenge was to write a piece using the word Life as inspiration AND to keep it under 300 words….