It’s the closest thing I’ve felt to death.
5 days of labor and pushing and pain and sweat and utter exhaustion.
Hours of almost readiness, a champ in the ring, waiting for her trophy.
And he arrives, at a perfect Godly time with absolute intention.
He comes uncracked, unwrinkled; life hasn’t stamped her good ol’ reality check on his skin. Not yet.
Why do we cry? How does it crack our hearts wide open?
We’ve all traveled this channel too. We have got to be as perfect, as divine, as uncracked?
Somewhere underneath. Right?
Clouds hiding the sun, type of shit. Right?
A son. A nephew. A gift.