In the operating room, stunned by the weight of instant and all encompassing love for Charlotte I thought about a card my mom had recently given me. The baby had just been born; I’d gotten to see her sweet puffy self very briefly as the anastisologist took our first family photo. Wayne gave me a proud kiss and then went to show Charlotte off to the nursery staff. You know, so the doctors there could confirm what we knew even then, she was the most perfect baby. The sterile doors closed behind them and literally just a few minutes after it all began she was safely born and I was a mother.
I was relieved the surgery had gone well and started to think about how appreciative I was for my new family. As I was getting “fixed up”, and random thankful thoughts were buzzing through my fuzzy mind, the message in my mom’s card came into focus. It said that I would shortly understand how she felt about me – and suddenly the message took on that heavy meaning she knew was coming - I took a hitched breath to lift my suddenly heavy lungs. I now knew what she was hinting at – instantly understood a deeper love that I had never known could exist. I started to cry because I was so filled with the true knowledge of her deepest love for me. Dr. Thatcher worriedly asked if I was okay, I was crying silently in an operating room after all. In response I could only get out “I am just so overwhelmed” by the love I was feeling for Charlotte and the love I was fully understanding and feeling from my own mother.
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