Meeting Eames

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.