It’s Always Been You

Sometimes I look at my daughter and I think “holy shit.”  Actually, I take that back.  Every single second of every single day I look at her and think that.  I mean, how did I get so lucky?  How did I get the kid that I couldn’t have even dreamed up?  And trust me, I tried.  I tried to imagine exactly who she would be or what I wanted in a kid.  I got it in spades.

She’s hysterical, cute, squeaky, healthy, grunts when she poops and likes to laugh.

I never ever believed the notion that someone “up there” is handing out babies to well deserving people.  Not once.  My mantra during all those months of negative pregnancy tests:  “Lulu, you don’t have to believe in God, crack whores get pregnant every day.  You can too.”  Yes, that’s me.  I think if I can be a little better than crack whores, my life is moving along just fine thanks.

So I never thought about where she came from before she was given to me.  I know it’s cells dividing, it’s sperm and egg and progesterone suppositories, no caffiene, prenatal yoga that makes you fart, no lunchmeat, and lots and lots of worrying.  It’s not some dude in the sky with a serious ego problem that picks and chooses the kid you “get”.  It’s not magic.

But there she was.

They took her out of me, I couldn’t see them do it but I felt it.  Half out and she was already screaming.  Then a pull and she was gone from me.  Out in the world.  And when they brought her past me on the way to check her vitals in some secret back room, she was upside-down, bloody and screaming and all I could think was, “Oh.  It’s you.”

It was her.

And so we began.  And it wasn’t anything less than spiritual and magic and nothing scientific.  At all.



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