Because of everything we’d already survived, the last nine months were filled with constant, low-grade anxiety. We barely set up the nursery until the final month, both of us terrified of letting ourselves hope too openly. But somehow, miraculously, everything progressed smoothly, week after week, well past every point where things had previously gone wrong.
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When I finally went into labor early yesterday morning, Desmond stayed right beside me through the long, exhausting hours that followed, holding my hand through every contraction like he could somehow absorb some of it himself.
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Just after midnight, our daughter finally arrived. Hearing her first loud, healthy cry was, without question, the greatest relief of my entire life. The pediatric nurse carried her to the warming station to clean her up and run the standard checks, smiling as she told us we had a perfectly healthy baby girl.
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A few minutes later, she wrapped our daughter in a warm blanket, leaving one tiny shoulder slightly exposed, and carried her over to Desmond. He had tears in his eyes as he reached out and took his daughter into his arms for the very first time.
