We took a few photos with Danny's iPhone while Max was in the hospital. I don't intend to share any of the other photos here, because that was a really hard time for us. But this one tells the story of the first time my sweet little boy held my hand. And it's a story I want to share. Just like the first time his daddy and I held hands, it was a moment that will be imprinted in my mind forever.
Our time in the hospital was very challenging for me... I longed to hold my baby without an audience of hospital staff dictating our schedule. If I was allowed to hold him, it meant that it was feeding time--and that was pretty stressful and exhausting for both of us. He often lost weight just from the energy it took to try and eat. Usually it would end up with him fed being through a feeding tube.
The few rare quiet moments just singing and rocking my little Max to sleep in my arms were a delight. It was one such moment, when he sweetly placed his hand on top of mine and opened his usually tightly griped fist, as if asking for me to hold his little hand. I gave him my fingers and he happily tightened his grip. "He's holding my hand!" My heart burst with joy and I smiled as I thought of the first time his daddy had held my hand. How my heart had known in that moment that nothing would ever be the same. And there it was. A brief happy moment in the Pediatric unit when once again, my heart knew it would never be the same. To paraphrase Shakespeare, and with our hands, our hearts.