once.
The nurse placed the baby against my chest.
Warm and slippery and astonishingly real, the little body settled beneath my chin.
I began to cry.
Alexander stood very still beside the bed, his eyes wet, his hands clasped so tightly I could see the strain in them.
“They’re going to check the baby now,” the nurse said gently.
I looked down at the child’s face.
“Go with them,” I told Alexander. “Listen to everything, then come back and tell me.”
He nodded.
“I’ll come straight back.”
He followed the nurse and the pediatric team, leaving me with the doctor and the soft, bewildering
silence that follows a great effort.
When he returned, he came to the bed before he said a word.
“The baby is breathing well,” he told me. “The specialist examined them, and they want to do some
follow-up checks, just as we expected. Nothing needs immediate treatment.”
