An Ace's Ace: Connor Andrew Moore

It is almost cliché, but definitely not an understatement, the  saying that birth is witnessing "the miracle of life." We say it, but this belief for most does not come out of actual knowledge. Our saying it comes from faith, scientific knowledge, or both. It is different, like with all other things, when it comes from first-hand experience. Some of us argue that life is  in the mother's womb, beating from the very beginning, but we have never felt it. We look at children and we marvel at their curiosity and their innocence, but we do not get to witness it the way a mother does until we have our own children, yet the love for another's child can be so powerful. We love babies because they are defenseless and fragile, but we do not know what it feels like when you know a life is on its way, when you anxiously await the birth, when we see that baby's face for the first time, even if that baby is not ours, just a fragment of us...We do not know until we live it.

My sister Amy texted me nine months ago, "Merry Christmas! I love you. You're going to be an aunt, by the way." In disbelief I tried to unmask her joke, but it wasn't a joke. My sister had made the choice of becoming a mother and she gave me the most amazing Christmas gift. However, I had no idea how much this gift would change my life or hers. Amy is the youngest of our Phi Alpha Delta family, the Ace of Clubs and our youngest, our redheaded pride was about to bring a life into the world, our first Ace baby.

Those who think they know what it is to be pregnant because they know someone who is pregnant do not really know anything at all. We do not have morning sickness, cravings (except for my non-preganancy induced, random cravings for oysters and ice cream, but I digress), stretch marks, growing out of clothes, and an extra human to feed. My life went on while my sister grew a life in her. I was in my last semester of law school, avoiding work like the plague, being an activist via the Internet, being a legal intern, chatting on Facebook hoping that time would tick away, and in the back of my mind I always thought about my Amy in her first year of law school, writing memoranda, reading hundreds of pages, working at a law firm with her child growing in her belly. While I thought about graduation, my sister was about to graduate from the most important profession of them all: she was about to get her degree as a mother. There is no professional schooling for motherhood. I do not care what Dr. Phil or Oprah say, no self-help books prepare you for that. All you have is instinct and love. 

Because of the mess that is a law student's life, I missed Amy's baby shower, I didn't see her belly grow, and didn't get to spoil her the way I wanted to, but I got to see her the last three months of her pregnancy. More importantly, I was there for "the miracle of life." I witnessed it and I can say proudly that it is no cliché for me. Its meaning is plain and as magnanimous as ever. Amy Lynn spent almost 19 hours in labor. Maria (my big sister) and I truly wished we could have shared the pain induced by the pitucin and we really wanted to help her push, but birth is a single woman's game and we had to leave the room. Sitting in room 317, Maria and I, on hour number 100 it seemed, prayed. We pleaded to God to give her strength and to assuage her pain. No, really, we prayed for the end of the pain because our brave sister believed she was weak. "I'm a whimp. I can't do this," she mumbled in tears. Childbirth is nothing like they show you in the movies. It is true there are screams and pain, but it is not real until you are standing there next to a woman searching for strength when her body is exhausted. True there is cursing and an honest targeting of the man in the room and true there is waiting, but nothing prepares you for the real thing. Especially, nothing prepares you for that feeling you get when you see "the miracle."

On August 8th, 2009 at 9:40 a.m., Amy Lynn Moore delivered Connor Andrew Moore into this world. He weighed 8 lbs. and 10 oz and was perfect: open and very alert gaze, 10 toes, 10 fingers, beautiful smile, and not a tear on his face. I cannot explain how I felt when I saw "the miracle of life." I felt proud of my sister, yes. I saw her in a whole new light, she is now a mother. I saw a child look up to the woman who courageously decided in December that she was okay with her world changing, she would be a mother and a lawyer and she could do it all. I know she can. If she can withstand 19 hours of labor, taking law school finals while 9 months pregnant, and coming to terms with her life the way she always has, she can do it all.

 The day Connor was born I saw love and I saw God. That may be more cliché  than calling childbirth "the miracle of life," but I cannot deny what I witnessed. The love of a mother is unbreakable because that bond between mother and child is so intense and inimitable. We cannot create miracles. We can be conduits to miracles to let others witness them. Amy, thank you for your miracle. I love you.