It is currently 2:35 PM. I am in a position (litterally) that I thought would never happen again, or best case scenario, wouldn’t happen until far out in the future.
I am sitting on the floor of Amber’s hospital room, on a gym mat covered in a bedsheet. My back is up against a pillow, up against her hospital bed. Amber is nestled on my belly and chest. My arm securely wrapped around her right shoulder and neck with my hand resting on her belly. She is fast asleep. . . in my arm, against me, snuggling. The feeling of her against me, warm and comfy, breathing peacefully — that is something I will never take for granted again.