The days roll by, time passes faster and faster and faster. And today, my baby turns fourteen.
The day Peter was born was a quiet fall day. I'd labored into the evening, called the midwife and my best friend and headed for the birthing center in the dark.
We moved from rocking chair to bed, to floor, three by three, contraction by contraction. The light was soft, the music moved through my body like water back and forth deep in a kelp bed in the sea.
A warm bath, my dear friends, and the baby was ready.
He came into the world in peace and love; held by his father and mother, cared for by all the souls in the room. It was 2:22 AM. By 4 AM everyone else was sound asleep, midwife gone home, best friend back with her baby and husband in her warm bed, dad crashed on the big bed at the birthing center.
In the silent night it was just me and my new son, him nursing, me spinning wildly and falling in love with this tiny little miracle of a human. We rocked together into the night, crawling into bed, baby cradled as the sun rose golden on the red tipped leaves outside our window.
Fourteen years later I'm still thrilled to see him arrive and I still love him madly. What a lucky, lucky mom I am.