Oh...

I did it.

Do you realize that?

I nourished this tiny baby in my womb. Then I gave birth to her, all on my own.

As soon as she came out of me I scooped her up. My hands were the only ones that touched her.

No one took her away. No one interfered other than to offer words of joy and encouragement.

It was perfect.

She's perfect.

People won't stop asking if we've taken her to the doctor yet to see if she's healthy.

No, we haven't taken her to an office full of sick people to find out if she's in good health

Does she sleep well? Is she a good baby?

She nurses. She pees. She poops. And most of all she smells sweet, and I can't stop sniffing the top of her head.

What baby isn't a good baby, anyway?

People ask such silly questions.

All the time, since her first hours of life, she is like this:

A picture is worth a thousand words, right?

I don't know what to do with myself.

I'll never be the same again. No one warned me it would be like this.

So many women don't know what they are being cheated out of--this baby bliss.

So many women don't want to take the time to find out. Oh, but they don't know what they are missing...

Hello? Can anyone hear me? Is this thing on?

What he was thinking of, in fact, was the whales' songs. In the past the whales had been able to sing to each other across whole oceans, even from one ocean to another because sound travels such huge distances under water. But now, again because of the way in which sound travels, there is no part of the ocean that is not constantly jangling with the hubbub of ships' motors, through which it is now virtually impossible for the whales to hear each other's songs or messages. So fucking what, is pretty much the way that people tend to view this problem, and understandably so, thought Dirk.

Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

"We have a secret in our culture, and it’s not that birth is painful; it’s that women are strong."

— Laura Stavoe Harm