A Letter to My Newborn

To my dearest Eleanor,

When I walked into the hospital on the February 23, 2019, I didn’t expect to meet you the next morning. I came to the hospital because your movements had slowed and I needed to know you were okay.

The nurse told me I’d get a sonogram, they’d check your movements and I could go home. Your dad and I waited a few hours before the doctor entered the room. She told us, “I’m going to go ahead and suggest you stay, her fluids are a little low and you’re in the early stages of labor.”

We agreed with the doctor and as she closed the door behind her I began to weep. I felt so many emotions. Was I was robbing your brother of his childhood? If I hadn’t come sooner what would have happened to you? Was I prepared to be a mother of two?

After having your brother all natural I was determined to do the same for you. I walked the halls and cried until contractions picked up.

We returned to the room when I could no longer walk through the pain. I clawed your father’s arm as each contraction passed. I finally closed my eyes for a minute, I was exhausted, I had been awake all night awaiting your arrival. I woke up to a pain so intense I knew you were here, I knew you were ready. Your dad called the nurse and after a brief page over the intercom the room was filled with people. You were almost here.

Your dad held my hand and calmed me through every push, pain, and pause. On the fourth push at 6:01 a.m. your eight-pound body was placed on my chest. Your little squeals filled my ears and I watched as tears gathered in your fathers eyes.

We were his girls and we were both okay. I kissed your little cheeks, praying I could calm your confusion. Within ten minutes everyone had left the room and it was just the three of us. I was a mother again, a mother to the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.

Eleanor Monroe Spence, you didn’t enter this world like I thought you would. You didn’t come on your due date, you didn’t weigh what I thought you would, and you didn’t have olive skin or a bald head like your brother. You were so new, so different, dark brown hair covered your head, and your little hands and feet were home to the longest fingers and toes. Your pale pink skin was so soft and your cooing so sweet.

You were perfect the day I met you and you’re even more perfect today.

I love you,

Mom