38 weeks. Baby sister on the way. I think of you so much, and miss you so. Thinking of what her first outfit will be, I remember the one I packed for you. A beautiful soft yellow onesie with a blue bunny, from Italy when my mom was traveling. It's tail was a real cotton tail. I loved running my hand over it because it was so soft.
And the first time you wore it was in the NICU, the night we learned you were not going to make it. We held you all afternoon and night, skin to skin, and a blankie over your back. I went to bed at midnight to get some sleep, but couldn't sleep, I just lay in the bed shaking and missing you and feeling so cold. So at 3am I got up and went in to see you. The nurse, her name was Kay, was holding you, wrapped in a blanket and reading a magazine. I loved that she took you in her arms during her shift, not letting a moment go by when you weren't held and loved. (the 5 days before was a cooling treatment where we couldn't hold him.)
She had dressed you in the lovely yellow onesie. I was a little jealous, since I hadn't put an outfit on you, but I loved that she was treating you like a beautiful, real and wonderful baby and wanted you to feel the soft and the love of those who chose it for you. She handed you to me, and I took off the blankie, and took off your onesie, because I wanted to just hold you against my skin, your warmth and my warmth. I never got used to you wearing clothes, you were just a naked boy for me.
She left us alone.
And we rocked in the glider, and fell asleep, and I felt my heart get warm again, and I stopped shaking, and I just loved you. I smelled your hair and kissed you and soaked up every moment, and watched the dawn come over the city of San Francisco, that amazing view we had from that room. The light slowly creeping in, time still happening, the planet still moving, even though I would have done anything to stop it and just keep holding you.
At 6 am I walked so slowly back to my room, so tired, and so full of love and the peace that it brings, I could sleep after being filled with those hours of closeness, knowing I had held you as much as I could, and you had felt my heart beating. My milk leaking on you, all over my shirt. I walked back to my room, ragged and full of light, devastated and complete, not caring who saw me or how I looked, how I must have looked.
I talk to you now, knowing you are with me, and ask for your help as I wait for this baby. Wait to hold her in my arms, trying not to go crazy with the waiting and hoping for safety. Crying for you, crying for her. Waiting for the first breath again. Facing the huge mystery, the huge black, warm universe of giving birth, giving everything over, being taken over, letting go, and then...life. A cry. Love.
The yellow onesie is in your special box, so every anniversary we can take it out and run our hands over it and remember you, when you wore it in our bed at home, and for your service with our family when you had just died. It is so precious. We love you so much, little boy. So so much.
