Surrounded by worried, exhausted love, she comes in the world.
She’s calm and wide-eyed.
I love her realness.
She looks at me expectantly, trustingly.
I want to hold her close.
Already I feel the loss.
We are now separate, no longer dependent on us.

It isn’t long before they take her away.
Mostly happy, guilt and judgment are gnawing at the first minutes of my motherhood. Did I need to check fingers and toes, I wonder.
Is this a concern a trial for new mothership? They judge and criticize.
The few minutes take hours to endure. In my room our room , sleeping in her plastic bed.
I cuddle her and she keeps sleeping. I make a point of looking at her fingers and toes in front of the nurse. I really want the all clear on that test.
I have a physical craving for her to open her eyes and look at me again. We connect visually, telepathically, spiritually.
I accept she needs sleep, as do I.
Love too much, too deep and so very worth it.

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