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Judah.

I lay in the hospital bed on my side, turned away from the window that my husband is standing next to, cradling our brand new, precious bundle of joy in his arms. It's a boy. My eyes are shut, possibly trying to sleep, but failing, or just resting my eyes (and body) without sleeping. It was a natural birth, so I have every reason to be exhausted.
My husband, whomever that may be, says to my newborn baby, in an ever-so-soft voice (that some people might use with a puppy) "Do you know how much me and your mommy love you? Huh? Yes, we love you VERY much! You are so amazing! Oh, I love you!"
He then makes kissing sounds . . . over exaggerated "mwah" sounds, and the feeling in my chest makes me want to cry tears of joy. I'm here. I just had my first child. I've been waiting and wishing for this moment since high school, and it's finally here. A nurse with a clipboard of papers comes to my side.
“Ma’am, what will you call the child?”
“Excuse me?”
“His name, what will his name be?” My husband and I exchange glances, quick almost-nothing glimpses in one another’s eyes, saying nothing, but saying everything.
In unison, we grin, look the nurse in the face and pronounce, “Judah.”





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