He's three.

Lumbering down a never-ending hallway in a body I no longer recognized, I desperately sought relief. Leaning against the wall each time a contraction hit, I could do nothing but ride the wave of the worst physical pain I'd experienced in my life so far. It would end as if it had never happened. Then repeat.

It wasn't until I was finally admitted and we could call my parents that I let myself cry. It was real.

This was it. The day when all of the things I'd been the most scared of in the world, would happen. In one day. Less than.

It's blurry. Feverish. Dreamlike. The sound of the monitors. A heart. An ocean. Over, and over.

Suddenly, you were on your way. Four days late, and now ready to make your entrance, you did things on your own time, and in your own way from the start. The doctor, "should I run?" As the nurses said you were coming, now. I couldn't feel you, but I asked for a mirror, and I got to watch your entrance. It was by far the moment of my life. Words fail. A record 1 minute 36 second birth. Four simple pushes, I was laying back, and you were in the air...descending onto my chest.

You seemed huge, your hair was black, and neither of those things were what I'd envisioned. As you laid on me for the first time, I wondered who in the world this was that had just come earth-side.

Hours went by and I had no clue. It's all so hazy. You were so beautiful. Your dimples the fist big surprise.

When you came home after that first week in the hospital, I remember waking up each morning with butterflies in my stomach. Actual butterflies. Even though I'd seen you all through the night, there was something magic about starting a new day with you in it.

Every single thing about you, and my motherhood experience every day since, has been nothing like I thought, or ever could have seen coming.

I have fought for you, and alongside you, every step from the minute you arrived. One day I hope to rest.

At three, you have talents, and a vocabulary far beyond your years. You have brought things with you that only could have been accumulated from having been here many lifetimes, and you are ancient in your newness.

You have remained foreign to me, yet you're inexplicably mine. We are bound together, meant to be, and I still have a hard time wrapping my head around it.

Blonde, light, pure, sparkling, life-force, who's bones and soul I housed. You taught me that death and birth are two halves of the same whole, and of the devastating permanence to each.

I died the day you came to me, and I will never be the same. I was reborn, a giant heartbeat. Inside out, as if my nervous system now on the outside. I am stronger, and more fragile, and exhausted, yet more energetic, and full of opposites that all exist in me at the same time.

You sifted my priorities, entire. I could almost see them shuffle, and settle into the right spots, like sand. You gave me clarity, new vision, changed time, and taught me a deep appreciation for my body.

You recently asked me where we are before we are born. I replied, "the stars, the clouds." This week we talked about when you were in my tummy. You asked, "were you in the clouds with me? Or were you waiting for me?" Tears filled my eyes, as they do at this moment. "Both. Of this, I am certain, my love."

Happy Birthday to my Charlie, love of my whole life.

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