18

I cannot help but feel she isn't ready.
I remember when she was born, covered in muck.

My first contact with her? "Make her cry." That's what the nurse said.
"What?"
"Shake her and make her cry. She needs to clear the gunk out of her lungs."

They took her from Julie and put her under a heat lamp and that's where I made her cry. What did I know about it? I was a 20 year old kid. I had to they said. It was good for her they told me.

It was disappointing to me that our first contact should be so purposeful. I just wanted to admire her and listen to her coo. You know, to bond. That's what I heard happens.

It turns out though, that a lot of practical things have to happen first. Cut the umbilical cord (it took me three children to do it myself - like cutting beef jerky), weight, length (not height), APGAR scores, cleaning, crying, swaddling, then feeding. Maybe then admiration, maybe then bonding.

Thinking of making her cry still tightens my chest. I never liked it. As it turns out the years ahead were to be filled with anxiety, tight chests, prayers, hope - more than laughter and admiration though it never was her fault. I rather think the next 18 will be more of the same.

I learned that first contact was important if not a very sentimental a moment. I'd like to spend more time admiring her, her life. But who ever turned 18 and didn't still have a little gunk in their lungs?