Every birthday, I think about Ike's birth. I wish I had been there to see his beautiful face for the first time. Sometimes I feel robbed of those first moments. It is a fleeting thought because I know I have a lifetime with him and his birth mom, sadly does not.
My first impressions of Ike were that he was absolutely precious with his shock of strawberry blonde hair sticking straight up and his blue eyes squinting at me. He yawned and tried to stretch his tense arms but his withdrawals from drugs/alcohol would not allow it. I put him on the bed to change his diaper (he came straight from the hospital) and I noticed he looked like he had not been changed (his little shirt) in two days. He was filthy.
It seemed like he was aching or sore so I put him in a warm bath (from his hips down) to ease his discomfort and poured warm water over him. He almost sighed with relief and tried again to uncurl his limbs. It helped. Doesn't a warm bath always help? I put soft clothes on him and fed him a bottle. If the words don't move you-to see him finally like a baby should be, warm, clean and drinking warm formula, well, it was a thing of comfort. He was mine as if it had been branded into my heart.
I cut off his hospital bracelet, washed the shirt and blanket he came home in and kept these treasures for him to have from his birth mother. But I have the sweetest treasure.
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