The Bynum Bunch: Welcome Miss Aubri Joan, a little girl!!

Before Aubri was born, one of my best girlfriends told me to start a journal and write to Aubri regularly. I thought this was a great idea and have been doing it since a day after she was born. I'm not very good with words and my entries tend to read more like a summary of the day than anything else. The other day I was reading one of my many baby magazines and I read a letter about the moments after giving birth that brought me to tears. It's like someone was narrating my first hours after having Aubri. (pronouns modified to fit Aubri)

   "I had no idea how messy this would be. I crouch on a latex glove full of ice, the hospital's make-shift diaper. I like my insides are going to pour out, but it doesn't matter- because of her. I climb onto my hospital bed, pluck Aubri out of her bassinet, and put her on my chest. I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep. I just want to stare at her. I'm especially in awe of Aubri's cuticles, how they look like they could belong to a grown person even though she's only hours old. I wonder what she prefers: being inside of me or nestled under my arm.
   This is what it feels like to love somebody, I think. However I defined love before now seems so terribly off. So not like this.
   When I look over at my husband I know he knows. From this moment forward, he will be the only person who understands how I feel, who can look at Aubri with the same eyes, no matter how differently we may look at each other or the world.
   I want to live in this hospital bed, in this moment. The house will soon be a mess and the nurse won't come in to check on me and wrap Aubri the right way in her swaddling blankets. We're so comfortable right here and now, in our bubble world with a red button that brings help. There won't be any red buttons tomorrow.
   When we leave, it takes us well over an hour to make sure Aubri is buckled in safely and the car seat is secure. I swallow tears and sit squashed against the door, watching out the window as the world speeds by.
   Now she's a week old. Her hands are neatly folded under her chin, and her breath sounds like a tide, in and out. Once in a while she sneezes and I say, 'Bless you' from the other room. And even at 5 a.m., when she's wailing to be held, fed, changed, I am so overwhelmed with love that it doesn't matter.
   In many ways, I'm only a week old, too. Everything looks different now, a lighter shad. A baby! In my arms! I pinch myself. She's still there, with her head on my knees, waving her hands. I'm crazy in love and scared to death."
   From the book Rockabye, by Rebecca Woolf