It’s Too Soon for Springtime
How can he possibly sleep? Blazing rays of fluorescent lights pierce your eyes and machines beep and buzz and scream and a cacophony of chattering people cluster in hallways. And he’s so small, so unbelievably small. You’d never guess that there are working lungs inside those two and a half pounds. Barely working lungs. Lungs that need support, but he’s so strong. There’s February slush outside, but in here you can pretend it’s April, just as it was supposed to be. With violets blooming outside your kitchen window. With robins tidying nests in your shutters and your husband grumbling that he should clean them out, but he never does. He can’t bring himself to uproot those robins’ lives. He’s a big softie and he’s absolutely smitten with those two and a half pounds. Two and a half pounds of pale, wrinkled skin, determined, resilient. He just couldn’t wait to meet you. Couldn’t wait for April.