Soul mate, a powerful word. It's a notion that many illusive minds (like mine) dream about since earily childhood. Many advocates of passion and love swear by it's existence.

I had been an advocate at first, but after a string of unhappy and frail relationships, I began to think, what if it's a myth?

The idea, that another person in this world could match you so perfectly, in such a seamless manner was absurd. It just didn't make sense.

When my daughter was born, I spent day and night at her beside incubator. She was premature and ill. Her lungs were underdeveloped because of the stage of pregnancy she'd been born in, so she was constantly intubed.

I was still in highschool, living in a single parent household that struggled to make ends meet. Her other parent disappeared and I was left to carry the weight of it all. It was tough.

I remember getting a part time job at the age of 16 to help with her necessities. I would go to school, to work, to the hospital and home. Sometimes I wouldn't even go home. I'd sleep next to her all night. That cycle was on repeat for three months. That was when we were finally able to take her home.

Everything we did was challenging at first. She had to have constant oxygen in case her breathing slowed and we had to make sure she only slept on her back.

She took longer to crawl and walk, but even longer to talk and even more so to potty train. We got her speech therapy because they said it was the nature of preemies to have delayed speech. But it didn't help much.

Eventually when she was four, I met the love of my life. He was perfect (more or less) in the sense of understanding and patience. He helped me pick up those pieces I'd refused to pick up myself and provided me the support I needed to get back on two legs.

Needless to say we got married. When we found out about our first baby, we were surprised and excited. We went in for the ultrasound, ready to take the black and grey pictures to my in laws as we broke the news, when the doctor paused.

I noticed how he kept searching and searching without doing anything else but stare at the screen and furrow his brows. The doctor eventually asked what the diagnosis had been for the ultrasound prior.

We both recalled it was 6 weeks and that the heart was beating fine. Which only made him steel in posture. My partner went ahead and asked if something was wrong. The doctor then clarified that he was having a hard time finding the heartbeat.

I remember how my blood ran cold. His suspicions turned out to be correct. We lost our first before we could even meet them. I was given pills to "pass" our unborn. I was also asked to collect it in a jar because the doctor wanted to check the cells for cancer.

This baby was the size of a peanut but it hurt like hell. It was a splitting pain, one that burned emotionally and physically. I felt like a failure, like I had failed my unborn with an inadequate body. Seeing them for the first time was gruesome and unnerving, but worst of all, scarring.

A few months passed and I saw that familiar blue cross on the stick. Instead of feeling joy, I felt, uncertainty. What if we were trying to replace the child we'd lost? Was it really okay to try again?

The first few ultrasounds were just as unnerving, I was on more intensive pregnancy care. I had to get shots every two weeks to prevent him from coming early. I resented it. There was also that same fear that came with inadequacy. We bought a doppler and checked its heart rate every night.

As it grew, so did I. The tearing and stretch marks that came along were twice as bad as my first. From her, I'd only gotten three in my entire pregnancy.

I gained 30 lbs and had terrible morning sickness. When we found out it was a boy, anxiety filled me. I had never cared for a boy before. All I knew was how to care for a girl. Would I even be a good parent? Would my son even like me?

Dread filled my being as the days drew closer (the fact that I had a pending court date had nothing to do with it).

I remember where I was laying, in our tiny studio apartment. My partner was fixing the house across the driveway that would become our home. We'd just gotten back from homedepot; I had the sniffles and wasn't feeling too hot.

I was laying on the couch when the five-minute urge hit me again. I sat up to make my way to the restroom, but as I did I heard a tear. I blinked and stumbled onto the porcelain seat only to be met with a crimson streak on our quilted northern.

After tidying up I waddled my way outside. My partner was on the porch, slipping on some gloves. I opened my mouth to speak, but a rumble of pain made me double over. At that moment, he knew.

It took nearly an hour to get to the hospital. The city traffic being at its absolute heaviest. When we made it to the emergency drop off, my lover brought a up a wheel-chair and we were in the elevator within a minute.

I was strapped into the hospital bed, a fetal pulse reader hugging my torso as my husband checked me in.

Fear began setting in and the pain that had long faded from my memories came back with an intensity that I could barely fathom. The shots that I was given made his water sac strong. The nurse had to go in and manually pop it.

The searing pain, the ache of bones being rearranged to make passage for his arrival was mirrored by my screams. My vision faded and all that remains in my memory now was the sound of my scream as I made that final push.

He was full term, much bigger than my first and healthy. As the doctors cleaned him up, I looked away, nervous at how I might feel. My first had helped me mature. She'd made me struggle and fight to keep her by my side. She'd shown me just how capable I was, so what could he possibly offer?

I was surprised when I was asked to sit up. I watched as they brought the tiny little thing over as the nurse helped me unbutton the sleeve. They hadn't done that with my first. She had been immediately placed in an incubator and wheeled away.

I swallowed and held my arms out awkwardly just as the doctor placed him on my chest. The moment his warm skin touched mine, I knew.
It took less than a second for him to begin nuzzling his cheek into my bosom.

His little hand reached out and tapped my face, just as a sliver of light was caught and reflected off his barely opened eyes.
Is warmth was...consuming. It was as if the only sun that tied me to earth, was him.

My anxieties and worries were all abolished by the simplicity of our love. A single look and I already knew what he needed. He hardly cried. Most of his first sounds were hiccups and giggles. We were always together. He couldn't tolerate to be away from me and neither could I so I made arrangements to share our bed with him.

As time passed, the difference between our bond and the one I held with my daughter became wildly apparent. Even before you could speak we would communicate. We had inside jokes before he even knew what it was.

Every hug, every cuddle is able to cure even my harshest of worries. His smile is able to silence my overwhelming thoughts. His laugh can brighten the darkest of days and his curious eyes seem to easily slip into my soul.

I can't compare it. There's nothing like it. Though the love I have for both of my kids is equal in intensity, its very different because of this connection we share. Its incredible to experience the feeling of being held on an axis by a force of nature. Its something beyond your control. I never thought I would meet my soul mate, let alone give birth to him.