She used to be my baby on the playground, Morgan.
We would play “house” every day with numerous other friends on the elementary school playground, but two factors never changed: I was the mother, and Morgan was my baby.
Between two oak trees on the far side of a large expanse of grass and flowers, I would offer her pots and pans, objects created and only seen by our imaginations, and she would bang on them as I cooked supper.
Even as children, we both felt in our bodies a deep yearning for motherhood.
In high school, between the adolescent experiences of pep rally’s, football games, Saturday school detention, and (sometimes) Friday night parties, Morgan was diagnosed with PCOS and told that she could never have children.
A devastation, a shock to a dream that she had so earnestly fostered since early childhood.
In the late fall of last year, however, Morgan’s relationship with a boy grew serious (an engagement!) and an unexpected pregnancy soon followed, a dream of motherhood becoming reality in a most surprising of ways.
Last Thursday, water broke from the clouds in the same way that my best friend’s water broke, and I made the drive to the hospital with tears in my eyes, anxious to see the arrival of a baby long-dreamed for.
She progressed through labor quickly, 3 centimeters at 3 o’clock, 4 centimeters at 4 o’clock, and then suddenly at 8 o’clock, 10 centimeters dilated and ready to push.
Carson Elijah came into the world at 8:10 weighing 8 pounds 12 ounces and measuring 21.5 inches long, perfect from hairy head to wiggly toes.
And just like that a person was born, a tiny soul who will one day have hopes and dreams.
Just like the mother who birthed him.
