Page 117 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

“Can I… touch him?” Regan asks hesitantly.

“I’ll do you one better,” Christa says. “You can hold him.”

Shock, surprise, and elation cross her face all at once. “I can?”

“Yes. Of course. Human touch and cuddling are very therapeutic for preemies. You’ll even see nurses holding the babies if they haven’t been out for a while.”

“How often can we come here?” I ask. “What are visiting hours and limits?”

“There are none. You can come anytime you want, day or night, and stay as long as you wish.”

Christa unhooks a few things, gets Mitchell out of the incubator, and settles him into Regan’s arms where she re-hooks everything.

Regan’s whole face changes. I can’t look away. It’s like she’s having every single emotion all at once. Fear. Uncertainty. Nervousness. Excitement. But mostly what I see is love. It oozes from her every pore as she gazes at our son through teary eyes.

“Hey, buddy,” she says, hiccupping her way through the words. “I’m your mom. I’m the one you’ve been kicking all this time.”

As if he understands, Mitchell’s eyes open and his head turns slightly, looking up at her. My heart splits open and love pours out like a fucking tsunami. I had no idea. No goddamn idea how instantaneously it could happen. I knew I loved him. I loved him even before I saw him. But this… this is the most intense feeling I’ve ever had in my entire thirty years. It’s all-consuming. It’s so powerful it actually hurts.

And I know right here and now that for the rest of my life I will do anything for him. My eyes flit back to Regan’s face. And for his mom.

Regan cries in happiness. “Can he hear me?”

“He can,” Christa says. “He can see you, too. Babies love to stare at faces, especially when close like yours is now.”

The floor is hard and unforgiving, but I lower to my knees anyway and lean near her shoulder. I reach out and touch my son for the first time, more emotions catching in my throat as I feel his soft hand. It’s so damn little. His skin is thin, delicate, a bit wrinkly, and slightly translucent, with visible blood vessels underneath.

His tiny hand wraps partially around my finger and I lose all my breath. “He’s holding onto me.”

“He’s got a good grasp reflex,” Christa says. “He’s probably been practicing on his umbilical cord for a while.”

“He’s…” Regan has a hard time finding words. “He’s perfect.”

I wholeheartedly agree. Despite all the tubes and wires obstructing our view of his small face, heisperfect. “Of course he is,” I say. “He looks like me, after all.”

Regan laughs. “On that we’ll have to agree to disagree. He most definitely has a Lucas nose.”

“That’s what I said. He’s all me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She glances at me with a smile and an eye roll. “Oh, forget it.”

Regan talks to Mitchell. Her voice is calm and gentle, her tone soft and endearing. She was made for this. Made to be a mom.

“You’re a natural,” I whisper in her ear.

When she turns her head and smiles, our lips are inches apart. I long to kiss her. We’ve just welcomed our son into the world. I should kiss her. Her eyes fall to my lips for just a second, but then she looks back at Mitchell, and the moment is gone.

I kiss her anyway. On the cheek. “Thank you,” I say.

“For what?” she asks, touching his little cheek.

“For him.”

“Thank you too,” she says, looking back at me.

Now’s your chance.I lean in. I can feel her breath on me. Is she going to let me kiss her?

An alarm behind us sounds and Regan pulls away, looking back. “Is everything okay?” she asks Christa.

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