Reposted from my previous blog
I was looking at her tiny chest go up and down as she breathed. It was so calming, just looking at her scrunched up face, not bigger than even my palm.
I could hear Lena doing something in the kitchen. The angel that she has always been, she had stayed on after the delivery, helping me out with everything, even cooking for me when I didn’t feel like it. Her food, sometimes, was barely passable. But she would still make it, going through hundreds of websites for healthy recipes.
I looked at Noor again, taking in her light skin, thin lips, the tiny eyelashes and her characteristic smell mixed with the pleasant odor of Johnson’s Baby Powder. I would take it all, being a single mother with all its hardships. It was worth it and I didn’t regret anything. I was in my happy place.
And then suddenly a vision from years ago came back to me – me silently creeping out of the house when the sun was just peeping shyly, taking my bicycle and going out in the cold. I would ride fast, taking in the Earth’s raw smell, breathing out my feelings to the world. The tips of my cheeks would get red from the cold, and I would ride on and on and on. Sometimes I would speak to myself. And for those minutes, I would be me, just me. Uncensored.
I lifted my seven-day old daughter very gently and placed her head on my chest. Someday she, too, would take her bicycle out and ride in the cold.
Looking at her, I offered a silent prayer, asking that her reasons to ride out in the cold be different from mine, happier. And then I thanked, to no one in particular, for her, and for this strange kind of joy, unusual contentment.
Then I pulled her in closer and started counting her breaths with mine.