On the night you were born

For a while now I've been contemplating how to write our birth story.  I could go over all the tangible details.  I could describe my short, yet intense 4 hour labor.  I could talk about the fact that I didn't get an epidural until I was 10 centimeters and had to sit hunched in a ball for about 45 minutes with Decker fully engaged and ready to go.  I could explain the point at which Knox decided he was going to be the first one out and tried to push Decker out of the way, or the point at which both of their heart rates dropped severely and I almost had a c-section, or the point at which, once Decker was out, Knox decided to flip around breach and my OB literally had to shove her arm up "there," grab him by the legs and pull him out (good thing I got that epidural, right?).

But none of that would describe what really happened, or the important part at least.  That indescribable and overwhelming joy that surged through me as I gazed my sons for the very first time.  The joy that only other parents can relate to, the joy that you can never really describe in its entirety to others that haven't experienced it.

This excerpt from a children's book is the closest thing I've found to explain what really happened the night of April 24th:

On the night you were born,
the moon shone with such wonder
that the stars peeked in
to see you
and the night wind whispered,
'Life will never be the same.'

Because there had never been
anyone like you...
ever in the world.

Heaven blew every trumpet

and played every horn,

on the wonderful, magical,

night you were born.