We continue on our journey through the stories of moms you are sending us for Mother's Day, which is celebrated next Sunday in many Latin American countries and in Spain. Today we bring you with pleasure the story of Myriam and his little Martin.
We attended the birth of Martin and the encounter with his mother, and how even now, nine months after his birth, Myriam continues to thank him every day that he has filled their lives with illusion, happiness and surprises. We leave you with its beautiful story:
The day Martin was born, I was calm, relaxed and happy. It was a scheduled delivery, my gynecologist decided that 41 weeks were enough for my son to know the world, and at 10 in the morning, with my suitcase and a bag for my little one, prepared with infinite love and inexperience, I arrived at the discreet clinic Where my life would change forever. They immediately began with the procedure of rigor, oxytocin, bag breakage, monitoring. After a few hours, with increasingly painful contractions, he had barely dilated 2 cm. The midwife called me to calm, the plant was saturated and I asked for the epidural. It was one of the many mistakes I made in this journey as a mother, me, always so perfectionist. The anesthesia felt fatal, the tension lowered me so much that they had to put on glucose and the monitor changed. After 11 hours of dilation, with hardly any success, without allowing me to walk to fit the child, another different and worse midwife decided that it was time to have a C-section.
And so, at 23.40 on a steamy July night, with his mother completely grogui, the wrong way, and against his will, my little warrior, Martin, arrived in this world early, crying with the same intensity as the sirens of a thousand fire engines, demonstrating to the midwives, the gynecologist and their parents that he had a lot of life in that tiny, white and perfect little body. The most beautiful baby in the world. I insistently asked to be placed on my chest, I wanted to feel him by my side, I wanted to be his livelihood, I wanted to meet him and to know me. We were surrounded by family, friends, nurses swarming by removing the battered guts, but when they approached me, we recognized each other immediately, grabbed my chest, looked at him and remembered a little goldfish, with his mouth in "or "Surrounding my nipple," my little fish, "so as I started calling him, my precious little fish feeding on me. Since then, until now that I am nine months old, my life has been filled with toothless smiles, tears and tears as understandable as the best dictionary, of caresses with drooling and drooling caresses, of hugs to three and gazed by duo, of daily surprises, of exclusive lullabies, of great moments like his first syllables, of hugs and delicious kisses like a brownie with liquid chocolate, of hilarious pedreretas and of laughter clean and wonderful, just like my baby after the bath. And yes, there have also been hard times (I am first to the marrow), but not a single day has passed without looking at him and touching me to the depths of my being. Thanks to my son I have learned to feel unconditional love, I have rejected the banal and material in the face of the purity of a soul, I have assumed the absolute greatness and responsibility of giving life to another being (I am still amazed when I look at him and then look at us to his dad and me) and I work every day to take care of our family and to make these three different hearts beat together forever. That is why I wanted to say something to him, if you allow me: Thank you my little Martin, for such happiness, I love you very much and there is not and will not be a second in my life when it is not so.
I hope you liked this beautiful story as much as me. We are receiving many stories of mothers, and there is not much time left to publish them, so we are forced to make a selection.
We remind our readers that they can send us the stories, of between five and eight paragraphs preferably and accompanied by your photos with your children. Send us your experiences to [email protected].
