Push or Pull?

It was love at first sight. After thirty-eight weeks, I finally held my firstborn. My beautiful Charlotte Joy. “Charlie,” as we would call her, lay on my chest and wriggled under the bright hospital room light. Not knowing how to comfort her, I held her the best I could. Her sweet cry was music to my ears; to finally hear her voice and see her face was more than I could bear. Though nurses buzzed about the room, cleaning and prepping for Charlie’s first bath and such things, for those initial moments, the world seemed to shrink to just the three of us.
My husband and I stared at her blinking blue eyes, the tuft of strawberry blonde hair atop her head, her tiny shriveled hands, her precious little body. “We’ve been waiting for you,” I cried. I couldn’t look away from her precious face. “Momma loves you so much.”
As new parents, we knew we had much to learn. But with soring hopes of a bright future, we felt sure that, together, we could conquer whatever might come our way.