Since my mid-twenties, I’ve wanted to be a father. Yesterday, I got to hold a baby for almost twenty minutes, and I’m not ashamed to say that it really kicked things up a notch when it comes to my emotions regarding a child of my own. You hear about women having a ticking fertility clock, but I felt the same way. I’m getting older, and not necessarily becoming a better parent, or in a better position to be one. They say that no one is ever truly ready to be a parent, but I find it hard to imagine my future without a child.

The warmth of the little body, every kick of the legs, the tiny fingers gripping a single one of my own. The small squeaks and yawns of a content baby, wrapped up tightly, resting comfortably in my arms. The worry that I felt about his neck. Was I placing his head too high, or too low? Was I compressing it or extending it too far? The insistence by others that I pass on the baby and share this experience. It was all really nice.

I am so happy that M. and E. let me hold their precious baby, and I can’t wait to someday hold my own.