I woke up this morning thinking about Enoch. Specifically thinking about holding him. Trying to remember what his little 3 pound 11 ounce body felt like in my arms. Trying never to forget.
Something I hadn’t thought about prior to the wee hours of night on December 9th were all the positions you hold a baby. That night as I was trying to sit up straighter in the bed, I laid Enoch on my legs. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized the anticipation I had of him laying like that. And suddenly I knew I needed to hold my son in every position possible before the night was over.
And that’s what I did. Throughout the night, slowly, deliberately, I made sure to hold him every possible way:
I held him sitting down.
I held him standing up.
I held him against my chest.
I held him in my arms.
I held him away from me so I could see his face.
I laid him on my legs.
I laid him on the bed beside my legs.
I laid beside him on the bed with my arm around him.
I held him on my chest while he held my hand.
I held him while walking. (This was the last position I held Enoch before leaving the hospital.)
I had to! I had to hold my son in every position I could think of because I knew I would never get to again. I needed to feel him in my arms and next to me in every possible way.
So this morning when I wanted to remember how it felt to hold him, I went through every one of those positions in which I held him. I needed to remember… to feel him again.