Yin
12 years ago
When Ame was born, he didn't know how to breathe. No cries emanated throughout the room when they pulled his tiny, premature body from the womb. It was quiet. The only sound was of doctors whispering to one another as they took my baby out of sight, hovered over him.
My heart stopped, panic-stricken when they wouldn't hand him to me. All I could do was try and peer over the drapes, squirm despite the nurse telling me to stay still. Too afraid to think, I didn't even ask my husband standing at my bedside if our little boy was okay.
It wouldn't have mattered if I had. Katsuki was just as paralyzed as I was, body still, eyes pinned to the backs of huddled men he didn't know handling his newborn. I'd known and loved him for so many years. Never once had he squeezed my hand to the point he shook. Never once had I seen him that afraid. It was as if he no longer knew how to breathe too.
So you can understand the relief that washed over us both when the noise of a baby's wails echoed after those seconds that felt like years. The gratitude I have that my son discovered the strength to take that ever daunting first breath is unmatched by any.
Even today, Ame remains a quiet child. Though he's healthy, from the time of his birth to now, he maintains that ever-constant struggle of finding his voice...
I like working. I do something I'm passionate enough to try hard at. Something that gives me purpose. But there's a special kind of joy I get from simply existing in my own home, unencumbered by tasks, sitting crisscrossed on the grass, and watching my child play.
Ame's four now. He's yet to utter his first true sentence. Sometimes little words escape him, hushed as if he should be scolded for so much as speaking.
That shyness makes meeting new people difficult for him. He doesn't fare well in school. There's far too much stimulation for his sensitive mind out there anyhow. People talking, asking him things, places he doesn't know. He's much more at peace in the calm of his own yard. So am I knowing he's okay.
It's mid-afternoon. Ame walks around the gardens, crouches to the earth, feels the different plants strewn about. Curiosity lights his eyes, the bright red ones I see so much of his father in. His hair is dark, on the shaggier side, growing out and resting atop his ears.
I smile at the memory of Katsuki holding him as a baby, playing with that same hair between his fingertips, marveling at the softness compared to his daughter's lighter, harsher tufts. Katsuki never had to learn how to handle such a fragile thing as Ame, given Yuki's fire. When Ame came along though, the brusk thing of a man was careful, tender. Never once did I feel worried he wasn't tending to Ame the way he should.
"Mama?" I look up from the stalks of grass toyed between my fingers, catching sight of the little black-haired beauty blinking up at me. I can't help but smile.
"Yes, Ame?" My tone remains light so as to not overbear him as my hand reaches into his locks, gently scratches his head.
He can't quite answer right away. His breaths get all choppy, mouth opening and closing with no words to help him get across what he wants to say.
Ame's comfortable around me. He has no issue with physical affection, it grounds him actually. I can't count the number of times he runs to hide behind my legs or hugs me for comfort. But nonetheless, parent or not, he has trouble talking to me even alone.
Instead of saying a thing, Ame just holds up a dandelion, its stem resting in both his palms.
"Is this for me?" I ask, the easy gray color a little gift on his part. I kiss the top of Ame's head as he nods. "That's so nice, thank you."
