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I remember the look of fear in her eyes when she told me she was pregnant. I remember the excitement in her nervous laugh when we heard the heartbeat for the first time. I remember the way her voice jumped an octave higher when we discussed nursery plans and when we purchased clothes for a tiny being inside her belly long before it was due to arrive.

I remember the ultrasound when we found out that baby expanding her midsection was a girl, our daughter, and I remember the immediate happiness that encouraged her smile in that moment. I remember the appointment where we saw that little girl’s facial features for the first time on a screen and it was hard for me to focus without looking at her then the screen then her again. I remember rubbing her swollen feet every night for nine months, my attempt at carrying some of the weight that ultimately served as a consolation that I couldn’t.

I remember the middle names she tossed around randomly in the car or during dinner or while we brushed our teeth in the morning. I remember the moment her water broke and the weight of the bag we packed and the way she curled her hair that morning. I remember the birthing ball and the rocking chair and the beeping of the monitors that stalked her contractions, drawing a picture of peaks and valleys all leading to our little girl’s arrival. I remember pushing pads of heat in her back as she screamed in agony and begged for relief. I remember standing there helpless wishing I could provide a moment for her to catch her breath. I remember seeing her face when she saw the face that just caused her so much pain and watching the memory of those moments before fade from her frame of mind.

I remember the overwhelming feeling of how lucky I was to share this with her, to share a gift I could never repay her for or match in anyway. The gift of life she gave our child. Consequently, the gift of life she in turn gave me, the gift of being a mother that she accepted so willingly and emphatically and without hesitation, a gift she was created to receive without even knowing. A gift I’m reminded of every time I see them lock eyes in a silent conversation or cuddle together or share a giggle or curl each other’s hair or paint each other’s fingernails or sing lullabies before bed. A gift I get to witness and enjoy by association alone, a gift that I thank Him for every night.

I couldn't have chosen a better mother for my child and one day I have a feeling I'll look back to remember this time of our lives, a time my wife is teaching my daughter to be the best woman she can be and a time I'm lucky enough to just be a part of it all.

6 comments

  1. What lovely and vivid memories and a sweet tribute to your wife. Happy Mother's Day to her.

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, Lisa. I hope you had a Happy Mother's Day, as well.

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  2. That definitely made me cry! That was so beautiful

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