Little Dragon

“He is so tiny...”

Was my first thought as I held my son. At 8 pounds, 5 ounces, he had only fitted in the crook of my arm, weighing less than my own purse.

“Watch his head.” My mother whispered to me. And yet, I was already doing so. Every nerve in my body was alert, but not for me this time. I held him as if he were made of spun glass, snug in my arms, with him snoring softly. I could feel myself smile as his tiny hand closed around just a single finger of mine.

“Hi, Eragon. I’m going to be your mama. I promise I won't let anything happen to you, my little dragon.” And I plan to keep that promise. Until the end of my days.

I must admit, I didn’t give birth to my son, but I was present when he arrived. I know his mother. My cousin. Tara.

His mother is only two years older than me, and I knew her from when I was younger. Tara is my uncle’s stepdaughter and this wasn’t her first child, and she hoped it was her last. But Eragon didn’t have an easy birth. While his arrival was quick, a lot faster than I thought, it was still a bit strenuous.

From his birth mother’s dilation to his arrival, Eragon only took 20 minutes to be born, which, as I said before, was a lot quicker than I imagined. Tara gritted down on her screams, not even swearing, sweat dotted her bottle blonde hair, her thin hand clinging to mine.

With a final scream, I glanced down, to witness the birth, and felt slightly light headed from the visceral view. But he was out.

He didn’t make a cry, his umbilical cord was cut long to move him to a different table for whatever maternity nurses do with the newborn. But I heard not a sound. And then I noticed that the cord was tight around his fragile neck.

“Why isn’t he crying? I can’t hear anything!” Tara rasped out. I fought down my revulsion to the mild gore, and moved to watch the nurse massage and fret with the baby. I watched as they gave him a small vitamin shot, reaching out slightly to feel his air-cooling fingers.

“Is he okay?!” Tara asked. But the nurses didn’t answer her. Instead, they urged her to pass the placenta, to focus on finishing this ritual.

And finally, he cried. It was a soft, squeaky sound that filled my heart with a sense of warmth. I guess it was love. The nurses cheered and moved to forcibly pump more air in his tiny lungs along with a catheter to drain out any excess fluid in his body.

My lightheadedness was getting stronger, so I told the nurses and Tara I must sit down. The nurse chuckled.

"You can do that. I'll bring him over when it's time to bond." she smiled as she watched me settle in an understuffed chair.

“I need a cigarette.” Tara huffed, placenta expelled and her ordeal over. But my attention was drawn somewhere else: the head nurse was walking towards me, holding the baby in a loose wrap. I was luckily in a halter dress, and with a few tugs on the nape, I had the soft material untied, exposing my soft chest.

I gasped as I finally held him, tightening my arms carefully around his litte frame.

“He’s so tiny, so warm.” I whispered.

Eragon cooed, his tiny, bruised hand clinging to my finger. So small, so delicate.

Once I brought him home, I rarely let this little human out of my sight. The first week, I compared him to a wrinkly prune or a baked potato. He had a bruised face, dark and mottled and purple, a side effect from his speedy delivery and the cord. His little feet and hands were cold, but I massaged those little body parts, warming him and looking him over for any issue.

My mother stayed with me for the first couple of weeks, giving me guidance on how to tend to a newborn.

“At this stage, it's the easiest. All he’s gonna do is eat, sleep, and shit.” I wryly stated, holding my little one as I fed him two tiny ounces of formula.

During this week, my mother took me to the courthouse, and I stood before a judge, declaring I was ready and willing to be his mother, as per the agreement I made with his biological mother. I didn't waver, but I held trepidation.

“THe state of Montana recognizes Miss Redfield as this child’s sole guardian and provider. Congratulations.” Giving the judge, who was smiling as my mother held Eragon for me, a small bow of thanks, my mother and I left.

The first thing I did once I was outside was cry, clutching my baby to my chest, taking in his soft, powdery milky scent. It was warm, sunny and the area lacked others to try and disrupt my tender moment.

“He’s mine. All mine.” I whispered, the warmth filling my chest.

“You are going to be a great mother.” my own said to me. I smiled at her, a rare occasion from my usually wry and dour demeanor.

“I hope so.” looking down at my baby’s resting face, the birthing bruising still prominent on his squinched face, I placed a single kiss over each eye.

“I won’t let anything ever happen to you, my little dragon. Because I’m your mother, and I always keep my word.”