In This One Minute
I see a first-time daddy holding his son’s tiny hand for the first time.
I can see a baby, creating his first soft, fragile memory in a smiling hospital bed.
I hear the constant, high-pitched beep-beep-beep-beep coming from the rigid, gray monitors
in the corner.
I can hear the sighs coming from adoring hospital staff and beloved family members.
I taste the scent of sterile materials in the cold delivery room, a freezing sensation, like
breathing in through your mouth on a cold, snow-covered day.
I can taste an exceptionally faint, bitter cloud of anesthesia still in the air from its last use.
I touch the smooth black button of my Nikon camera as I preserve another moment in this
baby’s life.
I can touch the soft, pastel-colored sheets on the hospital bed next to the new mother.
I smell the various medicines and painkillers sitting on the counter next to the stainless steel
sink.
I can smell the sharp, tangy aroma of the slippery Germ-X the doctor is applying to his
hands.
I am feeling peaceful, overjoyed that I am standing here to witness one of life’s few
miracles, and the addition of another beautiful life in this world, in this one minute.
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