I sat down in the oversized chair. The moment I’d been dreaming about for the last eight days was almost here. I was going to get to hold my newborn baby, my precious little girl for the first time. I’d stood over her cot for countless hours. I’d held her hands, her feet, stroked her, smelled the beautiful smell of a newborn’s head. I just hadn’t picked her up and held her in my arms yet.
I’d never realized just how traumatic it is not having that initial skin to skin with your baby. Not being able to gather your baby close to you and finally feel them in your arms. In the first few weeks after she was born I’d cry myself to sleep and wake up realizing I’d been dreaming about having her next to me.
Zoe had been extubated earlier that day but still had so many cords and leads she was a tangle to get across. I sat there and waited patiently. Heck, I’ve waited nine days. I’m sure I can wait another couple of minutes. Finally I heard them say ‘ready?’ And I reached out my arms and gathered my precious little bundle in my arms for the first time. She nestled down and went straight to sleep. She knew she was home. Safe.
We’ve made up for lost time. I gather up Zoe, smooch her, kiss her, make her giggle. She smiles and coos in appreciation. I never want to let her go again.