He was born. We travelled far. Cabs, ambulances. She worked hard, suffered. I stayed with her, held her hand, spoke to her. She listened, she focused, we made it. I love her. She put her life into him. Mine also. I love him. He soaks up our love, our caresses, our gaze. His eyes can open and he cries like a mouse. He was born 2 months early but we were ready. She woke me and told me her water broke, the bed and she were wet. She put on my robe, my socks, her sneakers, and waited at the door, patiently. I called the ambulace, grabbed our suitcases already packed, grabbed everything that I needed, ran around for 15 minutes until we were taken to the hospital.

The day had not begun, the middle of the night set the correct tone : Quietness, a baby soon to be, another life – his, ours – to begin.

I now look at him and I love him and I love her and I love myself. I am thrilled. Daddy is ready.

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