It usually happens when I’m breastfeeding.
I see his tiny face, eyes closed, his hands little fists around my breast. I see him sucking rhythmically, his breathing frantic if he’s hungry, relaxed if he’s sleepy. I stroke his soft, feathery hair, and his little nose, as lightly as I can. I feel the bumps and corners on his head, and the soft soft skin on his arms.
Then I start crying.
I think, how could this tiny, perfect creature have come from me? How could this perfect little thing have been born of me and Oneal? It boggles the mind.
Before Lucas was born, I was terrified. How could we keep a tiny human being alive? He would be completely dependent on us for everything, and how he turns out would be completely up to us. How could we possibly live up to such a responsibility?
Then he was born, and I forgot about that anxiety. I was caught up in making sure we changed his diapers, checking if I had enough milk, asking the nurses and doctors if he was breathing properly.
It’s only been two weeks, but we’ve learned that as much as he depends on us, we aren’t exactly in charge. He lets us know what he wants, and when we try to make him do something, he flat out refuses! It’s only been two weeks, but this tiny thing already has habits and quirks, and each day we learn more about him and ourselves, and it’s a miracle, because I can’t believe we’re finally here.
Thank you, universe. This tiny thing is such a miracle, and I don’t know what we did to deserve him.