You were born today.
The night before, your mother went to bed, saying “I think we might have a baby before sunrise.” So I stayed with her, and sure enough, 8 hours later, a son was born.
You were a giant when you were born, looking weeks old already. Over 4 kilos that your mother had to birth, without anesthetics or the luxury of a hospital. The midwife only arrived 5 hours in and for a little while, it appeared that I would have to deliver you, myself.
I’ve had a few long nights, but none came close to this one.
While I am writing, you are vast asleep in your mother’s arms. After 12 seconds flat you no longer cared and closed your eyes, only crying when we had the nerve to wake you up, so you could be weighed, washed, and otherwise bothered.
Babies look around, but you looked right at me as if you recognized me from a long time ago. And I certainly recognized you.