The Motel

Well this place looks a little sketchy. Just the way I like ’em.

Alright, alright. Don’t look at me like that. Nothing bad is gonna happen to us. Don’t be a scaredy cat. It’s the only place around so hold on and I’ll go get us a room.

Ok. That guy was a talker. But I got us a double bed room and there’s wi-fi! No honey, we ain’t at the Hilton.

Get on in there and I’ll grab our stuff. Then I figure we just go to bed. Oh, you want me to finish the story? Ugh.

Just go inside. Here’s the key. I’ll think about it. And you’re gonna have to tell me a story some day…

Alright, I’ve seen worse. I’ve actually lived in a hotel a few times – another interesting tidbit about me. No, it’s not really that fun. Well, depending on where you’re staying I suppose. But yeah, this place is ok. So sit down. It’s story time again, but not the story you want. Let’s talk about the golden hour.

You can relax. This might make you sleepy. You might not remember yours (hopefully you had one) but the golden hour is a special time immediately after you were born – when the nurse placed you on your mother’s chest simply for your hearts to meet, and for your little lungs to get the rhythm.

The golden hour was incredible each time I gave birth. Having a small human placed on your skin – the human you were dying to meet – is a moment that awakens you to life. To what it is, how to give it, and how to hold it for the very first time.

I can still imagine Sergio’s tiny cheek pressed against me, his newborn eyes blinking in amazement at the light, as he breathed and breathed for the first time. And Marisol, though she was a bit less happy about being out – laid her heavy head on me to learn how to breathe in that golden hour. The golden hour was a bonding time for us, and one that brought us very close…

But yeah. They’re not here now. They’re alive. But someone else has ’em and I’m just sittin’ around tellin’ stories. Go to bed. I’m off to ask that guy for a map.