Peter Allen Rockwell Davis
October 3, 2011
By: Emily Soule
We saw you today.
In days past, we might have seen a dark film covered with splotches of
white.
Later, we might have been able to make out a hand, a foot, or the curve
of your head.
But today, today we can see you in real time, we see you moving and we
breathe a sigh of relief.
We see you twitch, and clench, and stretch in your warm, watery
surroundings.
Dark spots on the ultrasound of your brain.
Worry.
For nearly nine months we've waited, though I can't say patiently.
We've crocheted all the sky blue afghans, and stitched every thin,
flannel, bear covered receiving blanket you could need.
Gathering together around you and your mother, we've supplied you with
diapers, clothes, booties, bottles, and bears.
Mostly blue, probably more for our lack of imagination than for your
personal preference.
Anticipation.
A planned birth come too soon.
Doctors are much smarter than they used to be, they will make sure you
and your mommy are okay.
Don't worry, you're safe now.
Five pounds.
It's hard to believe such a little baby took up so much room!
Relief.
You've already beaten the odds.
Extra genetic material on the 18th chromosome brings trials
and pain no little baby should endure.
But you're not alone, your mommy and daddy are stretched thin with
agony and love.
One on the outside, like me, can't fully understand but I still feel.
Your little heart beats abnormally.
Pat pat, pat pat, pa—pat pat.
Even without that extra challenge, your life is fated to be a short
one.
Science is against you, most give you hours, some give you days.
Your family gives you eternity.
