When I first met my child. How do I explain it? Is it even possible to capture a magical moment with mere words? Please be patient with me as I attempt to walk you through the most amazing moment of my life.
It was a Thursday night, around 10:30. I was stretched out on our love seat with my husband on the couch. We were watching TV, winding down for the night, when we got the call. It was Mama A’s mom. Mama A’s water broke. We were their ride to the hospital. Could we come pick them up?
My drowsiness quickly disappeared. How was this happening? Our son was not due for another month. Surely, he had kicked Mama A’s bladder and she peed. He could not be on his way already!
In probably record-breaking time, we were dressed and out the door. As soon as we got to their house, I knew we were dealing with the real thing. Our son would be born much sooner than we anticipated. I tried with little luck to get my husband to drive something that resembled the speed limit as we took off to the hospital.
We got to the hospital and settled in. Mama A wanted me to remain in the room for a bit. Her contractions had not really started yet. We were able to relax for a few moments.
Then, the first contraction hit. I watched as my potential son’s heart rate plummeted. The room became chaos. His heart rate was not recovering. I stood there trying to calm Mama A as the nurses worked quickly to alleviate the situation. Regardless of their efforts, his heart rate remained low. The physician who was on call came to the room and gave orders for a medication to stop the contractions altogether. Finally, his heart rate recovered, but it was obvious that he would need to be born via c-section. I left the room so they could prep Mama A, unsure of how this baby boy was going to do.
The hospital was gracious enough to let us stay in an extra room that they had. My husband and I huddled there together for what seemed like days before we heard any news. Suddenly, in walked the nurse. Baby boy was doing fine. Would we like to come see him?
We walked through the hallway in a daze. Then, she opened the nursery door. There he was in the back of the nursery to the left-hand side. I can still picture him where he laid. The moment I saw him I knew he was our son. We still had the 72-hour wait for Mama A to terminate her rights and 30 days to wait for the birth father to come forward to claim custody, but I knew he was ours. It was as if my soul recognized him.
I walked across the nursery floor. With every step the six and a half years of infertility pain melted. We had been through everything we had been through because this baby boy was who we were meant to parent.
We stood alongside the warmer, gazing at him. I remember the nurse nudging us, “You can touch him.” We were so afraid to break the spell of the moment. He was calmly looking around. Here I was, touching my son, the one I went through all those years of pain to meet. I knew in that instant I would have gone through double that time had I known this baby boy was waiting for me in the end.
Eventually, the nurse finished up what she was doing and offered to let me feed him. She gently placed him in my arms. He was so tiny I was afraid he would fall through the bend of my elbow. I could not believe I was actually holding my son. I could only break my gaze on him to look into my husband’s eyes, seeing the reflection of amazement that we were experiencing this moment in time.
From there, we took him back to our room where we assumed the role of parents. Mama A wanted him with her when she was awake which gave us the time we needed to finish preparations to bring him home. With him coming a month early, we were not quite ready.
The 72-hour window passed and paperwork was signed. The text went out, “WE HAVE A SON!” It was time to go home as a family.
That was nearly seven years ago when I first met him, and I still stare at our son in disbelief. Capturing the moment we met him is impossible to do. There are not enough adjectives to describe the glowing magic we experienced. I am still amazed that I have the privilege of raising this not-so-little boy.
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