I ache. Each bone, each sinew, each tendon. I ache. I ache with pain, with love and that separate, overwhelming adoration that I see in his eyes again that I do not entirely comprehend even after this time. The way he looks at me; sometimes it feels as though I have truly tumbled from Heaven.
"Are you alright?" he whispers these last seconds as he burst through the door, dark tie flying, sliding down to kneel on the floor beside the bed. I can only stumble out an affirmative as the audible murmur of a cry from the bundle in my arms is heard. I do not notice the sheet straightening around my legs or the quiet departure of the friends that have seen me safely delivered. They will be back, I know. I can feel those rumbling aftershocks which cause me to deliver what has assisted me in sustaining this child's life and my love will be dismissed once more. I know we can be allowed these moments though; my experience tells me so and for once in my life, I wish time would stand still, smart and inflexible as it allows me these precious seconds.
I know I am shaking; but then again so is he. This child I thought I would never see is lying in my arms, blue eyes adjusting to the dim light as a crumpled hand hangs tightly to his Daddy; knowing he has come; knowing he is here. This person that I describe as my love has seen me at my worst and at my best and I am sure that he does not notice, or care, that my hair is tied away loosely with a ribbon and my skin still red from effort.
My world, once where I stood obvious and yet so obscure, shrouded yet exposed, is suddenly infinitesimal; miniscule. It is only the three in this room where my mind and my body is engaged; worries of what might be outside that door firmly shut away. I resist straightening the tie that has been pulled from his neck that has become my habit when I send him on his way each day. His smart shirt sleeves are rolled up too having been abruptly drawn from work however long ago it now was and I do not know what he had taken to occupy himself these last hours.
"So what do we have?" he asks me, the voice I normally hear authoritarian when he stands in that shirt and tie now almost thrown away in impatience, yet the tones in contrast seem to me desperately childlike and enthusiastic.
I smile and I tell him.