It’s Not DiGiorno, It’s Delivery

"Push!" Dr. Gemo ordered Deina.

I watched the attendees rushed about as my wife squeezed my hand so tight I nearly lost all cirulation in it. Struggling through the pain, Deina persured and then I heard it. The faint sound of a baby crying. My baby. My son.

While he made had been covered in some of the most gruesome blood, the doctor still asked me if I wanted to hold him. And I still said yes.

I cradled him in my arms. While I was gazing in his hazel eyes, I felt tears arise in my own.

My son had the tinest hands in the entire world. He wrapped his petite fingers around my finger. They were so small, so fragile.

I know in that moment, I would do anything to protect him. Trudge through muck, and messs, and hardships alike to reach him. My son. My sunshine. My happiness.