We looked at each other for the first time as mother and father. She looked so scared. I probably did too. I shook my head in shock and disbelief. But it also with happiness, excitement and love. I wanted to talk to the mother of my daughter. I wanted to hug her and kiss her and protect her forever. As the commotion resided, I kissed her and told her I loved her. I was overcome with pure joy and love.
"She's an Aries," I said. Through the all the emotions, all the millions of thoughts and expressions, this is one of the earliest things I said. Through the gravity of what had just happened, my mind managed to avoid negativity and sprout a light hearted sentiment. Life is full of ups and downs. Something inside of me decided, this experience was going to be an 'up.' I say 'something' because it wasn't me. My self is a usually a worried, negative being. Something inside of me awakened and I felt a strength like I had never felt before. I knew everything would be okay and that my actions, in the face of fear, would be effective and meaningful.
And then we waited. As we were alone, reality began to sink in. My mind was calm. There was no worry. Instead, clear contemplation and decisiveness. We chose to call my sister first; we knew she could keep a secret. Telling our parents would take... more time. More delicate explanation. And then we waited.
Good news. Before we had a room in the maternity ward, our baby was out of the ICU and into the nursery; as far as they could tell, she was a perfectly healthy, slightly small, baby girl. You might think this was a relief but it wasn't. All things considered, being completely unprepared, would they let us have our baby? Though we both considered the possibility she would be kept from us, we didn't dwell on it. It would have been too painful. There was so much to be thankful for.
And then we waited. A few hours passed. We got a room in the early afternoon and waited. With no updates from the staff, no contact with the outside world, we waited all day. It was as if we were forgotten.
"They're doing tests on her," they said,"we will bring her in when they're done," they said. Why was it taking so long? It had been ten hours since her birth and that was all the information we could get.
Since I was able to walk, I walked down to the nursery window and was able to see my daughter for the second time. She seemed so tiny at six pounds five ounces. This little part of me, bundled and sleeping, looked so peaceful. I teared up as I fell in love all over again. I realized that I had never actually been proud of anything else. Nothing in this world had ever made me feel so special. So confident and focused. I wanted so badly to bring her to her mother and couldn't stand waiting.
We weren't able to hold her on that first day. We occupied ourselves by planning. They kept our baby in the nursery and we finally found out that they were having trouble getting her urine sample. Most babies don't need one; those sorts of tests are usually taken care of prenatal. A bit of relief. But I wasn't going to be at ease until her mother was holding her and we were together as a family.
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