It was her.
Our daughter.
Her cry was loud, furious, and healthy.
For several seconds, I couldn’t say anything.
He rested his forehead against mine.
Caleb couldn’t speak either.
He rested his forehead against mine.
“She’s here,” he whispered.
I burst into tears.
“She’s really here.”
One of the nurses laughed softly.
I wanted to object, even though I understood that they had to examine her.
“She definitely has opinions.”
They laid her against me for a moment before carrying her to the warming station only a few feet away.
I wanted to object, even though I understood that they had to examine her.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s doing beautifully,” the pediatric nurse said.
Caleb lingered between my bed and the warming station, clearly unsure where he was meant to be.
I couldn’t see very much, but I could see Caleb’s expression.
“Go look at her,” I told him.
“You sure?”
“Caleb, go.”
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