There is nothing more awesome that I can imagine. And I mean awesome in terms of awe-inspiring.

The waiting was the worst part. We’d been together right up until the doors to the OR where they told me that was as far as I could go. They walked in, and the door closed behind them.



Waiting

“It won’t be that long – it’ll just feel like a long time – It’s actually really short” Is what they’d told me. But they didn’t tell me how long that really is. A short time is fifteen minutes. A half hour when you’re by yourself is a much longer time.

She’s alone… and nervous…. and they’re going to strap her down and no one is there for her…

Wait.


What if something happened? They are cutting into her without me even being there.

Wait.

Just come and tell me something! Is it hot in here?

It’s time.

The walk back wasn’t bad, the room was the brightest room I’ve ever been in… and she’s in the middle, arms out in a cross, a curtain just below her neck, a stool by her head for me. It’s cold, she’s cold, it’s bright. There are lots of people in the room, and a fair amount of sounds. I don’t see them or hear them. Just her.
“It’s a boy”

The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, the cry, the tiniest little voice, and there he is. Purple… Purple? He’s crying and I have to leave her to go to him… but she is still strapped there. I can’t be in both places.

He was purple, and a little bloody. And upset.



Are babies supposed to be that color?!?

APGAR, cleaning, cord cutting.


Ceremonial, but cool… the blood is darker than I had thought possible. The warmer is really warm, he’s still upset.

The nurse diapers and swaddles him, puts antibiotic cream in his eyes and hands him to me to take back to see his mother.

He’s so tiny… and so fragile… the lights are too bright for him. It seems mean.

Father. Baby. Mother. Kisses on a very tiny cheek.



She’s beautiful, he’s beautiful, this feeling defies words.

And away we have to go again – he needs a bath, and a check of his blood sugar. He’s quiet now, and still trying to open his eyes to look at the world around him. They want him to cry – he needs to get all the stuff out of his lungs. In the bath, he cries. They prick his heel to get blood. He cries. Color (red) has come to his body, but his hands and feet are still purple. His blood sugar is low, so he needs a bottle and can’t wait for his mom to come out of the surgery..
And then… we were alone. Him. Me. Bottle.

I have never been this unprepared for anything. I know nothing about taking care of a baby! But here he is. Here I am…. and he’s perfect. Completely perfect. Is he? Can I hope for that?! Is he alright? He seems alright. I guess this is how it will always be as a parent… I will always worry about his safety and health.

I didn’t mess it up. And before long, his mom was there with him, and the three of us were a family.


Because we made you,
My Darlin’
With a love in each of our hearts.
We were a family,
My darlin’ right from the start.