On Saturday, Eliza got a new BFF or at least that’s how my friend and I joke about the potential of our daughters’ relationship. (That’s best friend forever for those of you who have forgotten or pushed out of your consciousness middle-school note writing abbreviations.) Moana was born in the first of a fresh crop of babies on their way into our lives this summer. When I looked at pictures of her, just born, I remembered details about Eliza’s birth 11 months ago on a rainy night. I saw again tiny images I’d tucked away into the crevices of memory. I’d put them there to protect them, to preserve them because they were too fragile, too precious to leave lying around on the edges of everyday conversation. But last week I saw these details again. They were almost tangible.
I remembered Seth holding my hand and breathing with me through every contraction from five centimeters to ten. I remembered the red sheets on the bed where Eliza was born. I remembered being covered with them just a few minutes after our midwife put our daughter on my chest. I remembered the creamy white vernix that covered Eliza from her wrinkled toes to her curly dark hair. It was like glue and she stuck to me in the pre-dawn hours. [Read More]