I gave birth to a baby boy. Or at least I dreamt that I did. It was the evening, and I was crouched by the hearth. He was there with an ache in my bones. I felt it.
Fast-forward within the white walls of the hospital. I drowsily peeked through the nursery’s glass wall (One is not allowed to wander after giving birth; but dreams are surreal…)
There laid those tiny porcelain fingers and delicate whorls of tiny ears. He was crafted by the tiny chisels of white-winged angels. I held him, a small wrinkly thing in my hand — ugly as the night to some, but to me: so beautiful, so perfect — and I loved him.
It was the happiest moment of my life. I felt it.
Note: I am far from wanting, or even thinking of having my own child. And I look forward to the day I live that moment, and genuinely feel the joy — maybe a thousandfold.