I met you when you were just two days old. Your Mommy was very sick from a complicated cesarean, and I spent the night in the hopital so I could help take care of you.
There, in Room 404, I held you for the very first time. It is very humbling holding a new life in your arms. Somehow, the world reduces to the overwhelming realization that a brand new person has arrived. Here. On earth.
What could be more beautiful?
It was a promise of new beginnings; and yet, there was also the desperate feeling of wanting to stop time. You were so tiny, and the world was so big, that I just wanted to sit there in the semi- darkness of Room 404 and keep you safe in my arms.
But the world did come in, bringing with it words like developmental delays, autism, early intervention, ABA therapy . . . long words that generated more questions than answers. Words with too many syllables that don't even begin to capture who you are.
But know this, Peter.
You are you.
The baby I ment in Room 404. The little boy I love.
Your Auntie Bia