David was two weeks old when I held him for the first time. For two long weeks I anxiously waited for that sacred moment. To wrap my arms around his tiny body and claim him. Mine.
Still connected to multiple wires and IV's, he was placed in my arms and we shared our first embrace.
At first it felt awkward as the nurse re-positioned him multiple times. His neck needed to be properly supported so his airway would remain open and the web of wires connected to him needed to remain intact. Nervously I watched the monitors to ensure there weren't any drastic changes in his heart rate or oxygen level.
All around me, from different angles, Rob furiously clicked the camera.
Caressing my precious bundle confirmed I was a mother. With his heart beating close to mine, I held him for as long as I was allowed. He belonged to me and I wanted him to feel this bond. For a few, short moments he opened his eyes and I was there to look back at him.
His little person warmed the left side of my chest. My body held onto this sensation even after I set him down. When I arrived home I continued to feel a warm spot in my chest from where his head had been resting--a physical reminder of that precious time we spent together.
David means beloved. That was the right name for my baby. I couldn't imagine loving him more than I did at that moment.