The end is the beginning...

Howie Day was right when he sang, "The end is the beginning and every point in between."



I've had a lot of ends, and beginnings, and points in between in my life—graduations, new jobs, moves, my wedding—but none of those really compares to Matilda. When Kirsten and I left for the hospital I knew it was the end of "just us" and the start of something new. What I couldn't have known, however, was how beautiful the journey would be. What I witnessed over twelve hours was my wife, my hero, my baby momma deliver our daughter into our lives; what I experienced was art.

I was listening to NPR the other day and there was a feature on the photographer Sally Mann. I'm not familiar with her work, but the way that she described a photo shoot she did with her husband encapsulates how I felt as I labored with Kirsten: "It's almost dreamlike, the way we move. You know, each one of us knew what we had to do and we weren't talking, but there was something very quiet and very loving about the whole process." Of course, those that know us, have to know that we weren't perfectly quiet—we cracked jokes, we laughed, we cried—but we were quieter and more instinctual than I think we have ever been. In my mind's eye it's less chronological, less "memory" in the traditional sense. It's moments, it's feelings, it's snapshots, it's art. I am blessed to have been a part of it.

So that was the end.

And this is the beginning.



My heart is full.

Sugar and Spice

No, Matilda's birth story isn't finished yet. Partly because I am both a procrastinator and a perfectionist, and partly because I am on this incredibly demanding schedule called keeping a small human alive while remembering that I still need to eat. Also, I have not yet fully mastered activities that require two hands while breastfeeding Matilda, which means we do a lot of blog reading and very little writing. So in lieu of the lovely (really, it was lovely) story of our daughter's birth, let me distract you with photos of The Cute:



I was pretty convinced Matilda was actually going to be a boy. When the ultrasound tech announced without even a moment's hesitation that our baby was definitely a girl, I remember staring at the ceiling, distinctly not thinking about tiny painted toenails and over the top hairbows and all things sugar and spice. I was thinking about all the door slamming and foot stomping and screaming and whining and countless other horrifying things I did that traumatized my own mother. I went through a wicked Mean Girl phase. And even if boys are more prone to breaking things, including themselves, they don't terrify me (or Joshua) the way the thought of raising a daughter terrifies us. When I think about myself from the ages of oh, 11 to 18, the very last phrase that comes to mind is everything nice.

So this helps me deal:



How could something so small and so cute, wearing a TUTU, have scared us so much? Here, let's add our puppy to maximize the effect:



Those teeny tiny twinkletoes are definitely going to stomp their way away from me at some point. But not this week, or next month (maybe next year, but chances are good she'll end up tripping. And I will not laugh, because I am a good mother).

Ok, I'm definitely going to laugh at angry toddler Matilda.

But before that I will be savoring all these newborn moments, and baby pictures so adorable I find myself suddenly crying at a certain expression or silly position even after I've looked at them all thirty times. In a row. While pausing to look at Matilda herself in between. I can still imagine that little boy I thought we were having, but now I think of him as her someday little brother. Or maybe he will just live happily in my head while we add another girl to our family (someday. Not that soon, but not that far either. Like I said, birth was lovely!)



It's all been amazing, every tiring bit of the two and a half weeks we have spent getting to know our daughter. Now, I can't imagine not having a closetful of ruffled dresses and a drawerful of tiny socks with huge bows on the toes. When I finally got past my own past, and remembered all the things that come first (ballet class, saggy pink tights, pigtails) and everything that comes after (my wedding, my relationship with my mom, becoming a mother myself), I thought...we are so lucky to have a daughter. Life is just so full. And so much better with our little girl.

Matilda

Matilda Claire arrived one week ago today, on February 1 at 11:30pm weighing 7 lbs 8 oz and measuring 21 inches long. She was born at the height of the biggest blizzard of the year, the third worst snowstorm in Chicago history. A week later the city is still digging out from under all the snow, and I am watching our gorgeous daughter sleeping soundly on Joshua's chest.

Her birth was amazing, and her first week of life has been busy and has flown by incredibly quickly. I think Joshua and I have cried more than she has - not because we are tired or frustrated, but because she is so lovely and healthy and the experience of becoming parents is a kind of excruciating joy that can't be put into words.

I'm writing her birth story to share here and for her to have when she's old enough. I started it tonight hoping to be able to post it here on her one week birthday, but I should have known it's going to take me longer to write down everything I want to say about such a wonderful and transformative day.

Matilda may have been born in a frenzy of winter weather, but so far she is a dreamy, sleepy and calm baby. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and find her with laying in the co-sleeper with her eyes wide open, just staring and drinking in the little world of our bedroom. I know this newborn phase will be over soon and I am trying to soak up every second of her little life so far. She is by far the greatest gift that I have ever been given, and I'm still in awe of that fact that she is finally here, and real, and so beautiful that it hurts.