I couldn't help it

A few days later, Connor and I were released from the hospital, with a clean bill of health. That was a huge relief to me. Not so much for myself, but as for Connor. I had been told many times, by several different people, and on numerous occasions, that my baby would have major health issues. Mainly, because a teen is at high-risk for pregnancies. Despite the doctor’s reassurance, I was terrified that Connor would be born with some sort of birth defect. Something that I couldn’t handle. At least, I didn’t have to worry about that, now. I only have to worry about his health, outside of the womb. Like, a head cold, or pneumonia, or even falling, and breaking his leg. Ok, maybe that’s a little over-the-top. He can’t even lift his head, yet, let alone walk.

Mom arrived at the hospital, early to help get Connor and I ready to go. She grabbed the bags and the one balloon (sent over from her boss), and wheeled me to the car, with Connor in my arms.

After buckling Connor into the car seat, I scooted in the backseat beside him. I took one last glance, at the hospital. It held my fondest and greatest memory. My first-time holding my little boy, but I was grateful to be going home.

My mind took in the sight as soon as we arrived. Home. It was only a few days, but I had it missed it so much. I missed curling up on the couch, in front of the fireplace, and reading a good book. I had missed sleeping in my own chocolate brown and sky blue room, and dreaming. Most of all, I had missed walking into the ocean-themed nursery, and imagining that my son was sleeping in his crib. I didn’t have to imagine, anymore.

As soon, as I unbuckled Connor from his chair, I took him upstairs, and laid his already sleeping body, in his crib.

I smiled as I said, “Welcome home, buddy.”