Your Daddy is catching what sleep that he can on the sofa near the window. I realize that I should be doing the same, but here on the dawn after your very first day, the words are coming and need somewhere to go, because I know that so many mamas are feeling these same things as they enter back into this dance of newborn days.

I’ve stepped into this dance three times before, but always it is different. Always it is new, with so many of the steps unknown.

235 days ago when I took that test in the bathroom, more out of habit than suspicion, and it blinked back at me, “Yes +”, I knew it. We were starting this dance again, but what would it look like this time around—so unexpected?

We would fumble, I was certain. Sometimes dancing is nothing but mess as we sloppily maneuver around one another until we fall into step together. This, my sweet newborn, would be our new reality. Those first days with your tiny, budding life tucked deep within me, I felt the nervous excitement of a high schooler standing at the edge of that dance room, staring at the possibility of new love and beauty, readying for the dance before them. All jitters, we stepped in.

At thirty-three weeks when the doctor stared at that monitor for twenty-five hours, uncertain of how much longer your little heart could beat strong within me, readying her scrubs and the O.R. room to take you out on a moment’s notice, our dance turned more to a ballad. A building crescendo our feet could not keep up with.

The following weeks were wrought with uncertainty and urgency. My feet grew weary as we fought to keep you inside, one day at a time.

Two days ago I had a feeling as I walked into that appointment, tummy swollen but still so small. We had done it. We had danced this dance of getting to know one another without eyes meeting—a full thirty-seven weeks, and one more day thrown in for good measure. When she placed that warm jell and wand to my belly, I think I knew—we were finally going to meet.

Our dance moved to the labor and delivery unit, and a new cadence began. One of waiting, breathing, praying, anticipating, and a deep knowing that we were on the edge of stepping into a whole new dance. Sloppy and awkward, we would figure out our footing one sleepless night at a time. And when I felt that sensation that no mother can ever put into words, you exiting my womb and entering my arms, I knew it.

Dear newborn of mine, our clumsy steps will tell a breathtaking narrative.

I hear you now, only sixteen hours after you’ve entered into this world, I know your cry beyond that door as those heroes of nurses cradle you and allow me some rest. We’ll go home soon, and our dance will change cadence once again. As we fumble around these first weeks- me pretending to know what I’m doing because I’ve done it before, but really I haven’t, not with you. We’ll do it. One step at a time. Some steps beautiful, miraculous, gracious, and triumphant. Other steps muddy and more of a slip than anything else. Each one important. Each one a piece of this grace-filled ballad we’ll write together.