mom here now

It was dark outside the hospital windows when the little squeezes began. I hadn't felt them in years, but I knew them immediately. And with them, you drew me inside of myself. Inside of you. Inside of us, together. I remember saying to your Dad, "I'm going inside now." It was effortless, automatic, as if I were an expert meditater. I miss those hours of quiet oneness with you. An experience unique in all my years of living, in all my days of motherhood. On the outside, the adhesive and wires connected to my belly began to set off alarms. Our nurse ran in and out of the room, over and over. But you and I, we remained steady. Together, wrapped in a focused embrace, almost beyond the reach of the voice that ordered, "Turn to your other side!" "Get on your hands and knees!" We moved to the commands of the caller, but the dance belonged to us. B reathing in, we oxygenated. Breathing out, we released all fear. At one point, the nurse hit the button and