When I was a child, I had a grand and gleaming dream that filled all my thoughts. I longed to become a mother. So, when I discovered I was expecting, I found myself eagerly awaiting the moment I could finally hold my baby. The contractions began, and I was taken to the hospital. I gave birth to a boy. My joy knew no bounds. Late in the afternoon, the midwife brought my son to me. He was so small, with a tiny nose and grey eyes. We were left alone together. I looked at him, and began wrapping him in his blanket it must have taken me ten minutes. It was my first time holding a baby, and I found myself terrified I might hurt him.
I gently tugged at the edges of the blanket and saw his little feet. For some reason, I had imagined him looking quite different. He slept so sweetly. I stroked his feet, his arms, his little belly. Closing my eyes, I pulled him close and breathed him in. I knew that scentnothing else in the world compares. The smell of my son. But then, a strange feeling crept in, pushing away my inner calm. Odd thoughts crowded my mind, and doubts began to surface. The baby didnt smell quite as I had pictured; it felt as if I was holding someone elses child.
I wanted to put him down and leave, never to return to the ward. But how could I abandon a helpless baby who needed me, who depended entirely on my care and love? I had waited two years, longing for this moment when I could cradle my child.
The ward felt cold and unwelcoming. I called for a nurse and tried again to swaddle him, but I struggled. I needed to feed him, but I had no idea how. He wouldnt latch. He opened his eyes and looked up at me, though he couldnt quite focus it seemed as if he was trying to recognise me. As I pressed his tiny body against me, his little hand slipped over my shoulder it was soft and warm. In that moment, all my doubts melted away. My son slept peacefully in my arms, and my dream finally came true: I became a mother.
