I heard myself screaming — very unlike me. The thunder outside answered. The heavens had erupted for her debut after she’d waited so long to come.
We’d waited. Expecting her to be early, the summer days crept by until there was talk of evicting her by force. Wanting to avoid drugs, I’d begged for an extension, and the clock was ticking. Then, first thing in the morning, on the first day of the week, on the first day of September, she answered my pleas and came into the world without coercion.
You forget the full force of the pain. You forget that moment… the moment you fear your own strength. The moment you feel one more push might just rip your body in half. And that’s when I realized I was screaming, not so much from the pain, but from the terrifying realization that I could push even harder.
I didn’t know until after, but she emerged with her hand up to her face, which meant there was no rest after her head; I had to get her out in one shot — no breather, no waiting for the next contraction. Just pushing.
And then there she was. A full head of black hair. She picked up the screaming where I left off. How quickly the pain eased when I saw her sweet little face. Even now, she lays in my arms and I can’t believe something so precious and perfect came from such imperfect people, but here she is. A testament to new life. Proof that God is generous and good and merciful. From the start, she’s imparted to me patience, wisdom, strength I didn’t know I had.
Welcome to the world, Taylor May. Teach me.