I remember the first time I caught a glimpse of that chin. It was the very first thing I noticed about you. You had plenty of other notable features. But that chin, it's the first memory I have of you earthside.
You came in a dramatic fashion.
2 weeks of early labor. Every single night I'd bounce on that labor ball, walk the halls of our home, sit in hot showers to ease my back pain, and play a mental game of "is this really it this time."
We went to the hospital 3 times. 3 TIMES. They'd hook me up, note my pain, and ask me to walk the halls until I progressed. Each time the nurses would say, "You're in labor, we see the contractions, but you aren't progressing, so we've got to send you home."
And each car ride home I'd cry and cry and cry because since your sister was 2 weeks early, carrying all the way to 40 weeks felt like an eternity.
I was a hot mess. Locked in my house because my patience had reached dangerously low levels. Living in the bare minimum of clothing because it broke 100 the week you finally decided to show up.
On your birthday, your daddy left to go get me the breakfast I'd been craving for weeks. That poor man had reached survival mode and was willing to do just about anything to get me to stop complaining.
The garage door shut. And I knew.
I immediately called your dad to get him to come back, but he figured he had some time, so he continued on his way. He ended up at Dutch Bros, and if you know Dutch Bros, you know the line was 20 minutes long. So by the time he returned, I was in total panic.
We called all the grandparents and sent your sister off, grabbed our bag, and hopped in the car.
I was terrified. Not of labor. Not of pain. Not of birth. But of having them turn me away again. I told your daddy that they'd have to drag me out kicking and screaming this time, because I wouldn't leave unless you were in my arms.
10 hours later, you were born. All of our plans went flying out the window. You were all tangled in your cord and you weren't breathing.
I was scared. Everyone in the room was moving so quickly but for me, everything happened in slow motion.
I waited for you to cry. Your sister came out wailing. You should have been crying. I waited.
I waited more. I kept looking over at where they had you, but I couldn't see over all of the nurses.
I waited.
Your daddy was with you, I could see the look on his face. He was scared.
We waited.
And then you let out the sweetest sound my ears have ever heard. You cried. And cried. And cried. I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I heard your voice.
Shortly after, they brought you over to me. And there it was. That chin dimple.
Deep and prominent. I looked up at your daddy and asked him where the heck it came from. To which he reminded me that he also has one, but I've just rarely ever seen it buried under his beard.
You had black hair, a dark complexion, a perfect little nose, and were creeping towards 10 pounds. You didn't fit in newborn diapers and I they had to send someone to go find you an outfit that would fit. I studied your every detail while you wailed in my arms, but my eyes always came back to that chin.
The chin. I fell in love with that chin and it is still to this day one of my favorite things about you.
