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.