On the day you were born my world stopped, and my life began.
Bringing you into this world brought a pain so intense it made me cling to your father and cry out to him in a way I never had before.
But once you were in my arms, once I felt the weight of your little body on my chest, nothing mattered but you. You were here. Finally you were here.
The room spun with commotion. The doctor, the nurses, all of them busily performing necessary medical tasks on me, but it was all a blur as I held you. The feeling of your warm skin against mine blocked out all other senses. It wasn’t until the words NICU reached my ears, that I became aware of what the nurses around me were doing.
The NICU. If your lungs didn’t improve you’d need to be taken to the NICU. The nurse went on. The sound of your breathing, your skin color it was all wrong. Wrong? How could anything about my precious boy be wrong? She said she’d give you a couple minutes to do skin to skin, and if it didn’t improve you were off to the NICU.
The acronym frightened me, and I held you tighter. All the while whispering in your ear. Telling you it would all be alright. I was here.
Your breathing became less strained, color started to warm your skin, and I continued whispering in your ear. Telling you about all the adventures we would have. Minutes passed and the nurse looked down at you and smiled. It looked like the NICU wouldn’t be necessary.
Finally alone in our hospital room your dad and I reflected on all that happened that morning. As you lay there, nestled in your father’s arms we talked about how we were the luckiest. You were an answer to our prayers, our reason for life.
Commentaires