Exactly ten years ago, Boo came forth into this world in what my midwife called a "textbook birth." It was the middle of an autumn night that the stars and the quiet and the warm light of love welcomed her. Like any birth, it was painful and messy and just a touch scary. It was also the most beautiful and mystical experience of my life.
Within seconds of her birth, I sat back, holding her at arms' length, looking straight into her eyes, and she into mine. She smelled like me - I still remember that smell that was so strong and so familiar that I could have found her blindfolded in a forest. I knew her, and she knew me.
I was already a mother; The Bean had taught me how to love like a mother. But it was Boo's birth, the birth that wasn't so scary and filled with lights and nurses and a surgeon, that taught me the painful truth about motherhood. For every single day since that birth, I have lived the mystical beauty of motherhood that is born out of sheer pain and mess and fright. This is the real story of motherhood: that we give birth to ourselves and to our children every single day.
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