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Zeph is asleep on my chest, lightly stirring and breathing and sighing as my heart melts within.
I have to stop and read that again a million times.
But he doesn’t last in that position long. If I’m not standing up swaying and lightly bouncing, I’m not doing it right. Too quickly he’s fussing and I have to hand him back to Lu. She’s on 24 hour feeding patrol. And he’s a thirsty guy, just like his dad.
His dad. Me. Finally. We did it and it’s the first thing I can believe in so many years. Silas is my son, but I never got to be his dad, no matter what people say. And feeling that way for so long, as something I couldn’t be and didn’t have and wasn’t able to do, it feels shocking to apply that label to myself right now. Shocking but perfect. Shocking but right. For the first time in my life the chaos and correctness and beautiful, brilliant danger exactly matches what I want.
The first time we were home together, the three of us, it was like a vortex swirling out from Zephyr rearranging my mind, my soul, the physical reality around us. Immediately I had to start pushing furniture around and go through boxes of clothes and gifts and random objects of babynessas as Lu lay on the couch with our son at her breast directing my efforts. It was fucking glorious.
This is his house too, now.
12 days into our new lives together and the grandparents are freaking out. Our friends are suddenly lighter and elated. We are wrapped up in his quiet, alert gaze when he feels like being chill and amazed by the lungs and breath and voice as he screams into the night as all babies do when they are alive and want everyone to know it.
We are beyond thrilled to introduce our son Zephyr Rigel Gallagher.
He was born at 8:15am this morning via planned c-section. He weighs in at 6lbs 13oz and is 19.5 inches tall (long?)
Lu was amazing throughout the surgery, our doctor and nurses have been incredible, and the grandparents are swooning over their brand new grandson.
I feel happy and calm in a way I have not felt in years. It is like my heart is finally unclenched from the fist it has been twisted into since we lost Silas.
She’s calmly asleep in bed, I’m on the couch wide awake and waiting.
I have to breathe. It is all I can do. I can’t help her or him or Silas or the past. I am in stasis, hovering, hoping. I have to breathe.
Struck dumb. Silenced. I can’t… There’s no way to…. Just… us.
Lu grows larger by the moment with our second son inside her and everything I want is right there next to me, within her, and I can do is wait. The wait has been…
I have to breathe. In through my nose in calm inhalations, out through my lips. Like we were taught in the birthing class last time. Now I’m the one who needs it but it doesn’t seem to take.
Give me everything that comes next. I am…It is simply impossible to describe how finely wrought are the molecules of my soul, down to the edge, the breathless, bitter, blazing edge of hope and of fear.
My nervous system is firing spasmodically whenever I think of what is coming next, exactly next.
Friday we drive to the hospital together and avoid all obstacles, hand keys to valet, hand future to doctors, wait, hope, focus, hold hands, wait, hope, focus, beg. Hope… wait… swallow my fear and lay back into the couch as I breathe and wait, again.