birthing_day ovenbird The presents are for you but the memories are mine. You arrived two weeks early while your grandparents were still drinking scotch and singing pub songs across the Atlantic, so at midnight, when you told me you were on your way, there was no one to watch your brother. We brought him along for the ride and stationed ourselves in your grandparents’ house because it was closer to the hospital. In the end you were born in your granny’s guest bedroom (a fact that she finds horrifying) with your brother hovering at the head of the bed holding up his stuffed monkey, Bobo, so he could get a good view. In between contractions (and howls I have never produced in any other context) I kept saying, “It’s okay, this is all normal, nothing to worry about!” and finding Bobo’s face just inches from mine, which felt completely absurd amidst the mind bending pain. Your brother wasn’t fazed by any of it. When you took your first breath he said, “can I have more cereal?” and wandered off for a second breakfast. A very dear friend came to visit in the afternoon and she took a picture that is, perhaps, one of my favourite pictures in this world. You’re asleep on my chest, exhausted from your first hours of living, but so peaceful, and your father and brother are gathered around. You are the center of everything. Every face is turned to yours. All the love we have hones in on the unbelievably small six pounds of you. My hand is on your back and your brother’s hand is reaching out to touch you. We are completely absorbed by your light. I’ve been absorbed ever since. You are a little fire that crackles. You spit sparks then settle into the calmest glow. You rage and flicker and flame so bright and I am warmed straight through by your arms around me and the way you say “goo nee” instead of “good night” just because it’s silly. You burn everyone with your well practiced side-eye then delight with white hot wit. You are a tiny kindred to my heart, getting less tiny every day, and I hope you know how deeply you are loved and how thankful I am for the gift of tomorrows that have you dancing through them. 250716 what's it to you? who go blather from