Elijah

Yesterday evening we got home at about nine o'clock from the hospital. Went straight to bed but this little boy got sick from our desperate attempt to satisfy his pre-milk-coming-in appetite with formula. He threw up, so I gave up trying to sleep to just be with him. Took him to the bathtub. He didn't like the water, either, so I quickly wrapped him up in a warm towel and put him against my chest.

All night long he had been giving fuss to try and nurse, but this time I guess he was just too tired to bother the head-bobbing because of my skin. He buried his head down into the towel, and grabbed a fist-full of my hair to hold on. The whole little realm taken up by his body was well within just my navel to clavicle. I looked down into his fetal wrap and was amazed, taking in what surely was the most life-like ultrasound I could have ever hoped to have. I felt a little intimidation this angle to see just how big his head was.... His index finger was inserted into his mouth, and he wimpered every other breath.

It must have felt natural to him to roll up in a ball and be held. After all, we were only 50 hours postpartum. I remained there, rocking him, looking at him... awestruck. And pleased to be the one he wanted to bring comfort.