I can still recall the day you were born
It is the same day your Father lost his job at a local sandwich-making shop
It is the same day that I laughed hysterically when my water broke as I was showering,
alone in the apartment in which I was already raising my two other children
It is the same day that Two Towers crashed down in a place that I have now come to think of as the land of
make believe
While I fought to push you from my womb, firefighters, police officers and regular citizens experienced their own Pearl Harbor moment in this land of make believe
I grunted and strained but you refused to be moved
Husband crushing one leg against my chest
Sister crushing the other
Still nothing
When you finally emerged after nineteen hours of labor
I imagined I heard a piercing cry bulleting from your vocal cords
I imagined that the inside of your mouth looked like a gaping red hole
I imagined your tiny face scrunched in an agony of confusion
Your little fingers wrinkled, coated in vernix caseosa like the rest of you
I imagined that when I looked into your eyes we would instantly recognize one another
I imagined the look of rapturous joy on your Father’s face the moment he took you into his arms
I imagined the sweep of your thin spider-like lashes as you blinked at your new surroundings
I imagined the new baby smell of you---almost like curdled milk but infinitely better
I imagined your bare skin pressed into mine as I nurse you, your sweet little lips gently releasing my nipple as you fall asleep
As I open my eyes and look into my husband’s face
I realize that’s all it will ever be---imagining