Just one measly little week left before my littlest baby turns five months old. One month shy of half a year.
Has it really been so long since that unforgettable day? I remember details of it like it was moments ago, flashing back to me at odd times. Oddly, they tend to strike when I am doing other, unrelated things, and rarely when I'm actually standing in the room where it all took place.
There will always be something about that room though, now. It's just a bathroom, and a pretty unimpressive one, at that. To me, however, it's a place of great significance, and will probably be the only thing I truly regret leaving behind when the time comes to move on from this place.
Despite laughing out loud in response to Tom's jibe that I should take my time re-entering it for the first time, I did have to take a moment and adjust to the sight of my own washroom upon my arrival home from the hospital. I didn't find it scary, or anxiety producing. Rather, it seemed imbued with a sense of power- the same sense that I felt in myself after having undergone such an intense, personal, and independent birth experience within it.
I am forever changed by the ordeal (to be fair, I can say that about each of my births, but not for quite the same reasons), and though I hardly ever consciously view it from that perspective anymore, I suppose I feel on some level that the room has been changed as well.
As for Amelia- it's the only birth she will ever and could ever know, and which she will know of only through stories, but what a legacy she'll carry as she grows.
My, how she grows.
Now, if you're feeling sufficiently sentimental about the whole affair, take a moment to rediscover it over at Domestic Pirate, where I've guest-posted as part of her Birth Story Celebration Series.
Don't mind me as I blubber over a glass of wine considering how big she's gotten. Hopefully by next Tuesday I'll be ready to embrace reality again.