B boy arrives

It all happened yesterday. We were in the hospital from about 11 and all nervous as hell. Mum got wheeled away for a spinal block and then Steve joined her and for the next 2 hours Heather (god mother) and I nail bit and paced. Well, read our books, watched bad TV and drank coffee, but same thing.

Then Steve came in to say it was all OK (boy did he look shaken and pale!) and walked us through to recovery. There was mum loking slightly drugged or just worn out and in shock, and there was baby in his humid crib, making squeaking wheezy noises as he breathed. Heather and I both started crying, the big butch nurse handed us tissues and we said all those inane things whilst trying not to blubber everywhere. The little guy kept wheezing and mum and steve talked about the moment when they pulled out the baby and held him up all covered in muck, from behind the screen that hid the action end (think gaping wound).

Then mum was wheeled back into her room with us in tow and baby stayed behind in the nursery getting his oxygen.

When we came back this morning he was finally in mum's room with the feeding tubes out and breathing without oxygen. Only this morning did she get her first cuddle, but when we walked in he was cradled in her arm and they both looked so happy. We all had turns holding him and it was lovely, just lovely as he held my finger and looked at me with one dark blue eye from the puffy smooth curves of his eyelids.

His mouth is wide and pink and looks ready to smile or shout or cry, his mini frown is ridiculous but serious, his one puffy eye still closed from the traumas of birth occasionally splits open and a dark glimmer shines out, like a wary pirate, like he knows we aren't yet ready for the fullness of his gaze.

B is for baby, is for brother, is for beginnings.