"My boy, my boy..."

I was too weak. TOO WEAK. I couldn’t even lift my own head, let alone hold my own baby. Why did I have to be the strong one when I was so weak? It killed me. Too weak.

“My boy. My boy,” was all I could mutter as I lay there on the delivery table with my legs wide open—the doctors were still stitching me up. Nobody was looking at me, thankfully. But I was annoyed that they were all huddled around my baby. I couldn’t see him! Why didn’t they place him on my chest like all those other mothers you see on TV? Is that him crying? My baby… oh, my baby.

Too weak.

I remember screaming when the doctor pushed his hand up me to clean out the clots. “I know, I know, but it’s necessary! We have to clean out all the clots,” he told me in an attempt to reassure me. He did that three times. And I couldn’t stop myself from screaming each time. The pain! I wanted to shout “just leave me alone! I’ve done my job, now leave me alone,” but instead I just lay there and took it. I was beyond anything by then. Everything turned into a blur, and it felt as though the world was closing in on me. I wanted it all to end. But the pain! They kept tugging on me down there, where the baby had come out. Doctor, why did you tell the nurse to bring you “something a little more sturdy?” What does that mean? Oooh, let me be.

They were still stitching me up when the room started clearing out. I remember seeing Laura hover by my baby, looking at him with that face that radiated nothing but pure love.

“Laura, hold him.” I was laying still, wanting so badly to hold my own baby. Why didn’t they bring him to me?
“No, I know you wanted to be the first one to hold him.” She looked anxiously over at me.
“It’s ok, hold him. He needs to be held. He needs to be loved.” I knew it in my soul that this was true even as I spoke those words.
“Are you sure?”
“Hold him. He needs his mommy.”

I can’t explain the feelings I experienced when I watched Laura scoop up our baby boy at that moment. I was overwhelmed with relief. I was so incredibly happy that she was there for him, to hold him and love him the way he deserved. She was there to be his mommy when I couldn’t be. It was physically impossible for me. And just watching her hold him and cuddle him and talk to him softly while she rocked him made me feel at peace with everything. I just knew it was right. And my heart swelled with joy and broke into a million little pieces all at the same time. My baby—my life, my heart and soul—wasn’t meant to be mine.

To this day it kills me that I wasn’t able to hold my baby after he was born. And even though I had the chance to visit him and hold him throughout the few days I was in the hospital, I was too weak to hold him for longer than a few minutes. He was heavy! Ten-and-a-half pounds is nothing to sneeze at. But it just made me so sad because I couldn’t help but think that I was a bad mommy. I was too weak. I couldn’t even hold my own baby; my own flesh and blood. Oh, my love. Oh, my boy. I would snatch you back in an instant and keep you safe in my arms for two lifetimes if I could.

But you deserve more than what I can give. You deserve the best. And now you will have it.