Learning to Cry Read Online Free Page A

rolling around like one of those bobble-head dolls. She was obviously in another world, apparently having gone bye-bye thanks to whatever drugs they had injected into her veins. I was amazed that she was already in recovery – the operation must have been quick.
    At that point the nurse handed me a little girl. I didn’t know what to say, and the memory of that moment still brings tears to my eyes. My heart exploded as I gazed into the face of this little human being with her red face and brightly lit cheeks. The nurse was saying something about her being fine and healthy and how everyone was amazed how big she was for being so early. I couldn’t see or hear much as my arms wrapped around this little person. I instantaneously loved her with my entire being.
    Up to that point, I had held very few babies. Parents would ask if I wanted to hold their babies, and I always declined. They had always seemed too little to me. Too fragile. Something that could easily break. I was too nervous to be responsible for something somebody held so preciously in their hearts.
    When I held my daughter in my arms for the first time I couldn’t help but think how perfect she was. How I would never let anything bad happen to her. I would give my life to protect her, hold her, and cuddle her. I now understood what it meant to love somebody completely and totally. You get married, you have sisters and brothers, you live your life with friends and family, but holding your child in your arms for the first time is a gut-wrenching reality check on the very definition of love.
    I, personally, feel there are no words that adequately describe my feelings. I could spend years attempting to help you understand what I felt that day but I would continually fall short. I imagine most parents feel the same, but I would like to think that I held something special that moment. I held my daughter, and she was the most incredible thing I had ever laid eyes on. June 5, 1994.
    The rest of our stay was a little more routine. Cheryl’s C-section kept us in the hospital a few more days.  It takes a little boosting to get the body back into the full swing of things. We had procrastinated getting the essential items, banking that we’d have more time before Melissa arrived. I ran out and bought a car seat, little shoes, little pajamas, formula, bottles, etc. We literally had very little prepared. Thank God we at least had a crib. Little did we know Melissa wouldn’t be sleeping there, or in her bedroom, for several months.
    Cheryl’s parents arrived the next day. They came in the hospital room, crying and sad to have missed Melissa’s birth. I think they felt a little guilty, but how could anyone have known? We made our way home after the third day, and our driveway was filled with balloons. The house was open, waiting for its newest occupant. I still remember how windy it was that day. The balloons attempted to launch themselves, frantically waving back and forth. Their bright red and pink colors proudly announced that we had a girl in our midst.
    I now wonder, in retrospect, if how you enter the world has any reflection on how you navigate life. I wonder if there has ever been a study done with the pairing of tumultuous births compared to the lives those children lead. I didn’t care about any of that at the time. My daughter was home, and I was happier than I had ever been, imagined I ever could be, or thought I ever would be again.
     

 
     
     
The Beginning
     
    Father
     
    The first few months after Melissa arrived were not quite what I had anticipated. I actually can’t say I had any idea what to expect, but the end result was not a normal routine. Not that I am complaining. Recovery time from a C-section takes a while. I guess somebody taking a knife and slicing through your stomach muscles takes a toll on your physical well being. The doctors told Cheryl to stay in bed and avoid picking up our baby during her recovery. Holding Melissa was fine, but we