My eyes fell on her. Never seen someone as adorable as her. She’d become my life. My heartbeat that just beat outside my body. My daughter. My eyes did a quick glance and took in her vitals.
‘Does she look weak? Did she cry too much when I’d left her side for a short while?’
‘My poor girl’, I felt the pain in my heart as she scrunched up her nose because of the pain caused by the stitches. But, I saw her readjust her features almost immediately and sigh with love, when her daughter smiled in her sleep.
My eyes welled up thinking of her struggle to bring that small life out of her frail body last night. Her shrieks, her countless ‘Amma… Amma’ all through the night, first in small decibels murmured like revered hymns, that soon picked up volume and sounded more intense. Her ‘Amma’ was then repeated every second and sounded more like a hopeful plea in between her confused state of conciousness and unconsciousness. A plea for the suffering to end. A plea for her mother to hold her and pass on the strength. To reassure her that the pain would subside soon. And everytime she called out, my palm precipitated, my lips quivered and my heart palpilated. ‘How long?’ I questioned my faith.
‘How I wish I could take all your pain!’ With every passing second, I fought silently with my God. And then I heard. Her long shrieks followed by the faint cry of the baby. My baby’s baby.
Today, on the morning after birth, when all eyes were on the newborn, my eyes were only for her. ‘Is she hurting? Does she need support to sit up?’
Wish I could place her inside my eyelid, never to let her get hurt. Ever.
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