porcupine,

I dreamed that you came last night. I woke up in the morning to find you, tiny and curious, sucking on a pacifier and taking in the sights of our bedroom. Not long after I noticed you there I noticed that I needed you to nurse. It took me a moment to get you latched on, but we finally figured it out, and you ate happily.
Mom was here, sitting in a rocking chair, ready to hold you when you finished eating. As I admired your small features, noticing you looked so much like your big sister, I realized: I have no recollection of the birth! How could this be? How could I not remember something so momentous?
I asked mom about it, and she sort of beat around the bush. "Come on, mom, tell me. How could I have slept through this? What happened? I need to know the birth story." All I knew was that it was June 9th, and you were here. And mom didn't shed any light.
Then I asked your dad, and he started to tell me about it. He told me about being in the tub, and being at the hospital. I stopped him. "Why were we at the hospital? Was something wrong? Did we even try the home birth?" No, he tells me. We went straight to the hospital. "What?! Why? What happened to our plan?" Then he tells me how our midwife took him aside right away and said it would be the best thing.
I was confused, but I didn't get any more information from anyone. I kept thinking I needed to know what happened so I could write it down, but nobody else seemed to share my sentiment..

Later I was trying to introduce you to your big brother, "Conrad, this is Hazel. This is Porcupine!" but all that did was confuse him.

Then I woke up, for real, and you were still in my tummy. As wonderful as it was to have you here, I was glad you weren't. It would drive me crazy to not know what happened during your birth. It was a sweet surprise to find you in my bed, but I felt so helpless and confused as to how I could have no memory of such an event.
I want to be aware of the first moment that I meet you. And, when you choose to arrive, I will be.