A single tear rolled down my round cheek the first time I got a good glance at my son. I had given birth to him just moments before this tear, the most joyful tear of my entire life. I had decided on the middle name long before the first, and I named this beautiful creation Jeremiah Reid. The nurse placed my brittle baby boy on my vacant tummy, and I wiped away the single tear from my chin as she swaddled him in a square of baby blue receiving blanket. All the focus had quickly shifted from me, to the now screaming baby that I cradled on my chest. Still in shock, I just stared at him while he tried to huddle closer to me. My little champ weighed in at 6 lbs. 10 oz., he was the most beautiful sculpture that God had created, a masterpiece. His head was well-rounded and full of dark brown hair that was matted down, slick in warm placenta and fluids. Our doctor immediately snatched my moment away from me and handed him to the nearest nurse. The nurse snipped the bounded cord that connects a mother to her child, and we became two. While being examined, my delicate infant cried and gasped at the large sums of air. He longed to be back within me, as the pearl within my clam. I suddenly desired to engulf him in my womb once again. I wanted to swallow him up only to protect him from the naked, twisted world, but it was too late. The slimy, vein packed placenta was the carried out of the room, and stitches were tied in tight where his broad shoulders tore me. The shiny silver equipment was then gathered, and I was told that Jeremiah was to be taken to the 3rd floor to be cleaned up and put into a warming bed. I remained there in my room, alone. My mother rocked in the chair beside my bed, but I wanted the person who had completed me for so many months. I was emptier than the room, and all that was left was the long stretch mark engraved along my stomach. My gushy remains contained nothing but my own blood and intestines now. My abandoned uterus lingered behind as an inflated balloon.
To Be Continued..