Tuesday, April 19, 2011

First Week

Oh, Wylie,

You sure did know how to make an entrance. I still feel a bit like my heart is living on the outside of me - scared to death something, anything, might happen to you: having you finally here in my arms - cooing and smiling and making pod-ling faces at me  feels dangerously precarious still. I hold you closer than perhaps I would otherwise. I examine every aspect of your existence with furrowed brow and wake regularly at night - examining your breath, tickling your toes, making sure you're okay. I have this fear that we overcame so much in your initial moments - that perhaps even more is awaiting us.

I know it's not. I know your safe. But still, I can't help but hold you closer than I would otherwise. (And believe me that's pretty close.) Samaire and I feel the same about your birth story - I can't bear to hear it, it upsets me so. It makes me cry still. The fear of those moments not knowing if we had made it through is obviously still very real to me. I'm carrying it around in my heart still. Slowly, I'm learning to put it down a little at a time, though I can't promise to put you down any time soon.

Your first week didn't help. Jaundiced and slightly dehydrated we spent every day but one at the pediatrician's office. She was great, and rather than send us straight back to the hospital, let us take you home to hold you under sun and pump you full of as much much breast milk (and formula, alas) as we coudl get you to swallow. I only had to give you formula for two days and you gained weight like a champ - so, admittedly, my worries have been for naught. Your daddy has from the beginning bragged that you are strong and a fighter, and you have proved him right at every single turn.

But despite the worry, having you here has been an unprecedented joy. I have always loved our little family of three. It has never lacked anything to me - but now, as I curl up on the couch with you and Maire and your daddy - something inside me has quieted, has sighed, has rested. Our family feels complete in a way I'll never be able to put words to.

You are so obviously ours. You belong here, with us. It has been amazing to see this little apartment swell to accommodate our joy. I feel it must eventually burst with the sheer happiness with which we are filling it.

Samaire coos over you, loves on you. Adores you. You are hers, resolutely: watching her take care of you, listening to her talk to you - my heart has grown ten sizes. Your eyes, in turn, follow her little voice as it travels around the room and you reach out your arms toward her when she holds you.

And hearing her sing you "April Showers" and "You and Me Together" when you are tired - I never imagined life would be this good.

In fact before you came, I was scared to death because I couldn't imagine what this would all be like. But here I am, hardly able to imagine what life was like without you here. I didn't know my heart, my life, could hold this much love.

But it does. And I know from experience it will only grow.

Oh, Wylie, thank you. Thank you for never giving up. For choosing us.

I love you, Baby Bear. More every moment.
your mama

1 comment:

Joan said...

What a wonderful writting of your thoughts. I remember when I was pregnant with Joe trying to imagine how we could love another as much as Sara. Having Joe ( our second) made me know our ability to love is endless- isn't that amazing. Much love and health to all of you. I am sure Wily will thrive and add to your family only more of everything.What a lucky little boy.