Roads not traveled #4...

The labor was hard. They told me we almost lost you, near the end, though you've assured me repeatedly that you were never in any real danger. You had no intention of every leaving me nor that tiny, pale, amazing girl we'd made, and I've known you long enough to believe you. I'm not sure even Death herself could take you if you had a mind to argue. Still, I'm glad you didn't have to.

I remember the night we decided it was time. We were in bed, and it was well after three in the morning, when the world outside the open window of our little apartment had finally quieted for the evening, so the only sounds left were your breathing (I always tried to make mine as quiet as possible, because I loved the sound of yours so much) and the gentle breeze rustling the curtains. I unbuttoned the top button of your shorts and slid my hand just beneath them, resting it over your belly, just where she'd soon be spending the better part of a year. You smiled, kissed my cheek, and put your hand over mine. And it was decided. No discussion. We both just knew. I'm not sure if that was the night she was conceived, but I like to think it was.

They put her in your arms as soon as they were finished making sure she was alright, which, of course, she was. She was perfect. You, on the other hand, were on the verge of passing out. You wouldn't let anyone else take her, though, so I just climbed into the bed with you, and you both fell asleep in my arms. I'd never thought I could love anyone as much as I loved you watching you grow with her inside you for the months prior, but then she was there and, holding both of you, my entire world, I did.

We went home the next day. You recovered remarkably quickly, they all said. I knew exactly why. You'd been waiting your whole life for this, and you weren't going to waste a single day longer than you had to. I remember hoping that she'd get that indomitable spirit of yours. Judging by the power in those little lungs, it would've been a solid bet that she would.

Watching her grow up, sometimes with the slow progress that is the road to wisdom, other times in the astonishing leaps and bounds that make us wonder if she's even the same child. She was headstrong and brave, heartbreakingly kind, and dazzlingly brilliant. So, in short, she was very much your daughter. I like to think she got a few things from me, but that might just be my ego talking. Either way, she was...amazing.

We sent her off to university this morning. God, how could that have been nearly twenty years already? I can still hear that first cry, see that exhausted look of triumph on your face as you held her. I can see her first steps, the first time she laughed, the first time she had her heart broken, the last time she let me pick her up. She has become so much more than I could have ever dreamt of that night I put my hand on your belly, our little girl. And I will carry her with me, always.