I nervously turned the corner of the NICU. I had been told
my baby was around that corner, one of the six in that section. I looked at the
little faces but didn’t recognize any of them. Evan pointed to the plastic
bassinet closest to me, and I looked again at a baby I didn’t recognize.
Already, he looked so different than the baby who had emerged from my body two
days prior. He was sleeping peacefully, able to relax despite the constant
beeps and the numerous wires taped to his tiny body. I looked at him in awe;
being separated from my baby for two days had felt like an eternity. He had
been rushed away a few hours after birth, the doctors wanting to perform some
precautionary tests that were only available at a different hospital 45 minutes
away. I barely knew this tiny creature, I’d held him once for only minutes, yet
my heart had been in anguish as I had spent two nights in the hospital with
empty arms. I felt amazed to see this proof that he really was here, that I
really did have a child. The child I had been talking to for 10 months, feeling
his kicks and rolls in my stomach. The child that had taken 18 hours of labor
before finally making his entrance into this world. The child that I wanted in
my arms, more than I had wanted anything in my whole life.
I felt afraid to touch him; being separated had taken away
my authority over him as his mother. I hadn’t given him his first meal, changed
his first diaper, or helped him throughout his first night outside of my body.
After the first night we were separated, I had called the NICU that he was
staying in to get an update. When the person on the phone told me about how
much my baby enjoyed his pacifier, I sobbed. Why was a completely stranger
informing me about what my own child liked? Did he enjoy his pacifier because
it was the only comfort he could have right now, as no one was able to be with
him at all times?
I approached my son and hesitantly reached out a hand to
touch him. I cupped his tiny head; he had more hair than I’d realized. I opened
up his burrito style blanket and was shocked at his tiny legs! I didn’t know
baby legs could be so skinny (turns out they were pretty normal newborn legs, I
just hadn’t been around many newborns).
A nurse joined me and my husband, giving us a tutorial on
how navigate the sea of wires so we could hold our son. I tentatively picked
him up, again feeling unsure of myself, then held him to my chest as tears of
relief streamed down my cheeks; we fit together like puzzle pieces. I rubbed my
cheek softly against his head, gently touched his sweet face with my finger,
and breathed in the scent of him. Evan waited patiently as I filled all of my
senses with the details of our son, then I gently passed him into the arms of
his father for the first time. Having even less experiences with newborns than
me, Evan awkwardly repositioned the tiny body until he found a comfortable
hold. His eyes swept up and down the small bundle, taking his own turn of
memorizing the details of this moment. Time
passed as we sat silently and allowed our souls to breathe a sigh of relief at
the reunion of our new family. We didn’t have any answers as to how long it
would be before we could all go home together, but we weren’t thinking about
that just yet. Our gazes switched between looking at our son, and looking at
each other, amazed that together we had added one more person to the world. He
was here, and he was perfect.
