{grateful daily | day fifteen}

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today i am grateful for
every breath he takes
_________________________

when he came out, he didn't cry.

i will forever remember two things:

the first time i saw his face.

and the silence.

the nurses took him to the warming table and poked him and prodded him and tried to get a response.

my head was turned as far to the right as i could get it, my neck was strained as the doctor stitched my wounds. i couldn't see him; the nurses blocked my view, but then they parted and i saw his pink skin, his tiny feet.

and then...he cried.

he wailed once, one long, earth-moving cry.

he was handed over to me and i looked into his eyes and said, 'it's you.'

and then they took him again, just grabbed him from my clutches, the nurse's brow furrowed with concern. they took him and went running from the room, and daniel said to me, 'should i go with him, should i go with him?' and i said 'yes yes yes' but all the while i was trying to get up, stand up, get out of that bed, pull that fucking IV from my hand, get to my child, get to my SON.

but my legs didn't work and the nurse made me lay back down. i wouldn't stop until they finally brought me a wheel chair and took me down to the NICU.

he was there, so tiny, so frail.

he was a baby bird.

he'd gotten a lung infection and needed IV antibiotics. my arms ached to hold him, but all i could do was stroke his feet. my chest swelled - i wanted him at my breast, in my bed.

three long agonizing days he had to stay there. but his infection was gone seemingly overnight. he responded favorably to the antibiotics and began to nurse right away. i could hold him, then, i could put my head against his chest and feel his new heart beating away.

breathing in.
breathing out.
never so thankful for breathing in my life.

and i am, still. i listen to him breathe when he sleeps. when he thinks quietly, when he 'reads' his books.

i listen to the breathing.

every breath, a prayer of thanks passing over my lips.