Hold the Baby

I probably hold my baby too much.

Well I actually don't believe you can hold a newborn too much, but I definitely hold him more than I have to.

I could put him down after he passes out in his milk coma, he'd probably transfer without waking up. But I don't. I hold him close to my chest and listen to the little squeaks he makes and how he breathes these two or three little huffs before settling. My first child wouldn't sleep anywhere but on my chest for a few weeks, but M is different.

I don't hold him because he needs it. I hold him because I need it.

This motherhood gig is rather difficult. Especially these first couple weeks when your body feels broken and everything hurts and you can't escape the unfairness that you have to go through it all on very little sleep.

But we do. We go through it. Like generations of mothers before us. In part because we don't have an option not to at this point. There is no postponing it or escaping. There is very little relief or breaks. Just a marathon of difficulty staring at you in the face without a fixed ending.

There is some solace though. It is the the sweet little baby sleeping on your chest or in your arms. It is the overwhelming love that hits you right in the gut without warning. It is seeing this absolutely perfect little being and wondering how you ever lived your life without him.

So I will sit and hold my baby, even though I could be napping, could be showering, could be doing. Holding him while he is sweet and still lets the happiness rise up and cloud out the pain, discouragement, and work. At least for a little while.

I am going to sit and hold my baby.