Emotions of a woman on the birth of a child Essay

Emotions of a woman on the abide of a child - Essay ExampleI didnt like the frog-looking thing that the ultra-sound revealed, nor the pumpkin that my aim said was inside me, nor the stork stories of Hans Christian Andersen fairytales. I imagined instead that I had swallowed the moon and that it was growing and expanding, filling me with undreamed light. First, it was a period of darkness when I couldnt feel her at all, then a curved crescent moon, then a big round full moon that made me waddle in the days, and toss and turn at nights, and crave Kentucky Fried Chicken at midnight and be repulsed by it when I got it.But now the white-hot light that shafted through me was not the gentle glow that Id entangle for the past three months, but a tearing searing volcanic eruption of a life superpower that needed at all costs to be brought forth. I felt like a quite a little that was being split asunder by a force greeatr than me, and I thought that I would die from the six-hour ordeal, like Rachel in the Bible story when she gave birth to Benjamin. But no, finally she released me from my womans curse of bearing children in pain (from eating the aching attractive but forbidden fruit). thither was a sweltering silence, and in my groggy post-natal haze I heard a sharp goldbrick slap, then a wild wail that I couldnt believe was human.When they put her in my acc discloseerments I was spellbound. It was impossible that this was her the moon-thing from my belly, the volcano that erupted from me, the werewolf that wailed at being brought into the world.... I stared at her in amazement. I didnt have rich look to look at her, her skin like Starbucks mocha that would eventually brown like Grandmas chocolate cake to look more like mine. I didnt have plentiful lips to candy kiss her soft skin that dented under my touch like a downy pillow. Not enough nostrils to inhale her smell -- so strange yet sweet -- a smell of new life. Nor enough hands to touch her incredibly smo oth warm skin, to fight with her to unfold her tiny balls of hands that pain around anything it could catch. Seeing her for the first eon was more beautiful than Shakespeares russet-clad sunset, more thrilling than my first kiss. And there were many firsts that have dotted this past year like the occasional caramel-coated nut in an already delicious Nestle Drumstick cone the first time she opened her eyes and revealed her dark brown eyes that she had sneakily kept hidden like an opal her first smile, like a burst of sunlight peeping out from under a shadowy mountain her first tear that terrified me and made me want to origin apart the invisible beast that hurt her like an enrage mother lion the first time she held my hand and a shot of love ran from my womb, up my spine and through my heart.I am good-tempered looking forward to her first words, and hope they will be Ma-ma, which will be like Beethovens ordinal Symphony to my ears (strange but magnificently beautiful), and not to mention her first steps on chubby drumstick-like legs (I ate too much KFC when I was pregnant), her first cut knee, her first day of school, her first crush look at her now, a little brown leprechaun from my own body, with her impish toothless grin, her lovable moon cheek and scraggly weed-like hair that I dont know how I will ever comb, Im