Writing the self 3 – “Holding You in my Arms”

I lay in bed propped up on pillows, exhausted and sore from doing the thing I have always dreamed of doing.  It made me feel so powerful as a woman to be able to create this life and bring it into the world.  Being a mother and raising a child of my own; such a stereotypical role as a female, but one I was beyond proud to fulfill in every aspect.  I was already dreaming of his future and how I would nurture him, teach him about life, and encourage him to reach for the stars and achieve his biggest goals in life.

I could hear him breathing as he lay on my chest, wrapped safely in a warm soft blanket.  He was so light laying on me, a whole six pounds and three ounces curled into a tiny ball, he felt like a tiny pillow.  I looked around the large double room we were fortunate enough to have to ourselves.  The room was stark white, plain, nothing exciting about it at all, but that didn’t matter.  I didn’t even care that my husband had gone home to change and sleep, leaving me on my own to care for our brand new baby.  To me this meant I didn’t have to share our precious little miracle, our perfectly beautiful son.  His nose was so tiny like a cute little button, never had I seen such small fingers and toes.  I pressed my finger into the palm of his hand, he reflexively grabbed on tight, his grip so strong.  His hand was cold, I pulled up the blanket and snuggled him in closer making sure he was warm.

It feels like I’ve waited my entire life for this exact moment, to hold this tiny baby safe in my arms.  I soaked in every second of being with him marveling at how tiny and perfect he was, his scent, the quiet sounds of him squeaking as he slept, and how right it felt to have him with me.  Our bond with each other was instant and came so naturally to me.  I wondered if this was how all moms felt when they held their first born child.  So little energy left that you could barely move but bursting at the seems with an overwhelming feeling of joy you could hardly contain it.

The door opened, it was Jordan.  He walked in looking refreshed from his nap, ready to hold his new baby boy.  I cuddled him for a bit longer before carefully placing him into his dad’s outstretched arms.  He sat beside the bed with a smile on his face looking down at Gabriel I cried a little from all of the emotions flowing through me.  His pride and love for his son showed very clearly in his eyes.  I watched the two of them together, they both seemed so comfortable.

In this moment I felt like I was perfectly playing the role of a woman, watching over her family, loving them with every fiber of her soul.  I felt like it was now my job to be the glue and hold us all together, together as a perfect little family should be.


2 thoughts on “Writing the self 3 – “Holding You in my Arms”

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