In the New Yorker, something I wouldn't have read before I had Marta - something that's made me cry a little now...
Daniel Raeburn writes about the birth of his daughter, after his wife’s previous pregnancy ended in stillbirth.
“Stand up, Dad,” a voice commanded. “It’s a girl.”
The doctor was holding a baby upside down by its ankles. The baby hung there, as blue as a blueberry and covered in fluids. She wriggled. Someone snipped the coil connecting her to Rebekah’s exposed gray bowels and blood jumped from the nub. The blue baby spluttered. She choked and turned as pink as a piece of candy. She changed from an internal organ into a human being. She cried. Then I cried.