Memories of love and birth

We're visiting family right now, in the city where we met and were newlyweds. At that time in our lives none of our parents or siblings lived here. Now all of Damien's family does.

We were both small town Alberta kids who met and fell in love while going to university in the big city. We left here 8 years ago to pursue different career opportunities for Damien. Something more related to internet programming and less related to oil & gas exploration. Somehow we ended up in Maine, after a stint in NJ pursuing said career opportunities. Maine is our life and home. But in this city of memory and family is the history of our two becoming one.

We walked these streets together and fell in love, you learn a lot about a person when you share a daily 45 minute walk to campus. It was here, at an Italian restaurant chosen because we had a 2 for 1 coupon, that my then boyfriend proposed. And we spent the first night of our honeymoon in this city.

Inevitably all that lovin' brought about the birth of our first child. And that event alone tugs most tightly on my heart strings each time I visit this city. It was here that my first child was born. On our street, in our home.

The home of Celine's birth

Every trip back here I try to drive past the house Celine was born in. And the memories of her labor and birth come rushing back. The smell of the spring rain on that mid-May day. The vegetables I chopped and the soup I stirred through each contraction. The painful walk on the nearby wooded path as labor started to hit hard. The sun shining and the buds on the trees opening to leaves the very weekend of her birth.

And remembering it was our arms and home that welcomed her the moment she was born. No packing, leaving, ice chip sucking, checking, testing, poking, prodding. Her birth memories are of fresh rain and new leaves, spring smells and sunshine.