Whole
I thought I was doing it wrong because he needed to be held all the time. Everywhere I looked was another reason I needed to do something about the way he needed me. Every time I put him down to walk away though, like they said I should, it was as if his cries were connected by invisible strings to my heart and my gut. They pulled tighter with every step that I took until they pulled me back to him. Back to his cries, back to holding him.Even though my arms didn’t immediately soothe him the way I wished they would, even though so often he continued to cry and cry and cry in my arms until I cried with him, even though it exhausted and depleted me to feel that and feel what I thought that must mean, he taught me to hold him anyway. He taught me to stay with him, despite what anyone else might suggest. He taught me to sit with it, to feel it, even when it felt so impossibly hard.He taught me how to hold space before he could speak a single word and now, in hindsight I can see that is what saved us, that is what got us through. The worry, the torment, the pain, the fight. We held eachother through it and now each of us is more whole than I could ever have hoped for, despite where we have been 
