Cabaletta

Crescendo I’m scared of needles, always have been, always will be. The mistake here was not closing my eyes when they announced the injection. I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared. With each anticipatory moment, I imagine a needle piercing my skin, along with the pain I expect it’ll bring. With each sharp breath I take, I am injecting myself with fear and anticipation, over and over again.

Legato She’s clutching my hand, so desperately that my hand has long turned pale. But I can feel her terror and that hurts more than her intense grip. I take my other hand and stroke her clenched hand. “I’m here, let’s breathe together. It’s going to be okay, it’ll be over before you know it,” I say, as I watch the needle enter her spine. She winces and tears. I keep whispering. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” In truth, I’m terrified.

Affrettando After all the pushing, they say to stop pushing, but I can no longer feel my muscles and I’m worried that I’m somehow choking this child. I start crying. She’s beside me through it all, clasping my hand and repeatedly whispering, “It’s okay, you’re almost there.”

-Lacuna-

Adagio The lingering pain from the shot, the numbness of my hips, the tenseness of our hands--it all dissolves away when they placed this wailing baby onto my chest. “Healthy baby boy,” the doctor reports.

Affettuoso We smile at each other and cradle our child together. Blonde hair, just like mine, hazel eyes, just like hers.

Allegro Vida, we name him.