My child is born. She is now almost three weeks old and she is the love and the bane of my life. I never knew that someone could survive as tired as I am. I fret over every single hiccup she gets, I feel ever so incompetent when I fail to ease her suffering in a short time. I don’t get enough sleep or nourishment, I walk and talk in a semi-zombie state. It’s the first New Year’s Eve I can remember being in bed before 2 AM. And yet I’m as happy as I ever remember to be. Miserably happy
It helps to have a fantastic husband. He has been my saviour when I get so tired and so frustrated and so worried I can hardly function. He has nurtured and upkept my sanity. He has stepped in for me whenever needed, even when he’s not quite sure of what to do and how to do it. He has conquered every new fear and helped me navigate through mine. He has been a true hero in my life and in my daughter’s brand new existence.
Amidst the pains and aches of a brand new motherhood, it has been a constant source of wonder and delight to see him so in love with our daughter and with me. His happiness and glee, as he contemplates the miriad of expressions she delivers, is a constant source of endearment to me.
And so it is. My child is born. And life could not be better… or worse