On Being a Birth Mom… Not Enough Time

Do you ever wish you could go back?  I do.  I wish I could go back.  Not to make a different choice about placing – I still think it was best for him and for me.  But I wish I could go back and relive the short time I had with him in the hospital; that I could be more of a sponge to soak up the essence of him.

I remember so vividly his smell.  He smelled warm.  Clean.  Brand new, like only a newborn can.  I remember his poor little misshapen head, and the bruising that was just slightly noticeable on the crown.  The soft fuzzy hair, so like the color of my own.  And I remember his cries, which seemed more pissed-off than hungry or fearful or tired.  Like he was angry at the harshness of the air around him, yet still resigned to be in it.  I rocked him, gently and quietly, him and I alone; I touched his face, his fingers, his toes.  My eyes drank in everything about him.   I sang songs filled with love, but also with longing and loss.  I knew this was my only chance and I reveled in it.

He was beautiful in every way, this amazing little boy. We spent the first 4 days of his life together in the hospital.  It was amazing and wonderful, yet tinged with pain.   And then he was gone.

Only one other time would I get to hold my son in my arms.  One powerful, beautiful, emotional day in 2009.  That’s all.  Not enough.