Kicking, foot poking
Through a gap in the swaddling blanket
Of white, pink and blue
"You can love on him," the nurse said.
I redid his wrappings
Failing to contain that kicking leg
But no matter
I scooped him up
Left hand under his head
Right hand sliding under his body
To my left shoulder?
No, he wouldn't have it.
Lowering his head to the crook of my left arm
His body snuggled against
The light blue of my volunteer scrub top
I began to move
First side to side
Then figure eight
The foot stopped kicking
His eyes open, looking at me
Before closing, succumbing to the sway.
Is there any better dance than this?
Wow. Love Ya, Dad.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Dad.
DeleteThis was all beautiful, but I really loved the last line. And yes, that mama sway never seems to go away.
ReplyDeleteWhat's funny is that I never considered myself to be the maternal type, not until I had my own children. And that was twenty years ago; nice to know the sway is still there.
DeleteI love the warmth this post brings. Your writing is so lovely. I hope to someday bring such warmth and love to a little one as you so eloquently describe here.
ReplyDelete