Undulations

I leave the hospital a different person than when I had walked in. I head to the car with my husband and my newborn baby in the infant car seat. The sun is shining and the light that is casted on the parking lot this morning is both pure and tender. I wonder how this new being feels all strapped up in his artificial cocoon? It is incredible to think that just a short time ago, he was in the security of his mother’s womb and now miraculously, he is about to take his first car ride home. Although the drive is a short distance away, I cannot help but slip into the back seat next to him, feeling so protective. If only I could bubble wrap our car. Or even better, put a gigantic neon sign above it, flashing, “Keep away, newborn on board!” As we cautiously drive onto the road, I oddly remember the words written in one of our Congratulations cards, “Having a child is like having your heart walking outside your body.” Well, thank you Hallmark, for phrasing that beautifully. I grasp his little hand in mine and I feel every undulation and each and every crevasse in the road, as miniscule they may be. I love the warmth of the sun glaring through the window of the back seat. Then I make a promise to myself, the next voyage we take, I will make an effort to sit in the front seat and learn to trust that he will be just fine a few feet away.