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“Fuck!” I cried. “Did I hurt her?”
“Not at all,” the doctor said. “She sounds good.”
“She’s okay?” Tria yelled out.
“She’s perfectly fine,” the nurse responded with a big smile. She brought the baby over to my wife and held her tiny head up close to Tria’s cheek. The nurse moved the little girl up and down, so that mom and daughter were cheek to cheek as Tria began to sob.
“She’s okay?” Tria asked again. Her eyes moved rapidly between me and the nurse holding our child. I could only nod since my tongue felt thick and was completely unwilling to move in any sort of controllable fashion.
“Your daughter looks great, Mrs. Teague. I’m just going to take her right over there and check her out, okay?”
Tria nodded, but she wouldn’t move her eyes from the baby. Actually, I wouldn’t either. She looked exactly like Tria, and when her little eyelids parted, there were deep brown orbs staring back at me.
“Let’s let the doctor take care of Tria for a moment,” the nurse said to me. “I could really use some help cleaning up your daughter a little. Could you help me with that?”
Her voice was kind of mesmerizing, as was my daughter’s face. I couldn’t quite figure out what her expression was—if she hated the bright lights or was just mad about being out in the cold, cruel world. She wasn’t happy, that was for sure.
The nurse wiped some of the gunk off her, checked her eyes, tickled her foot, and then handed me a soft little sponge to do the rest. Mentally, I counted fingers and toes and checked her out all over as I cleaned her off. The nurse wrapped her in a little blanket and then held her out to me.
My throat constricted as she was placed in my arms. I expected to feel uneasy about holding her for the first time, but I didn’t. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. She was soft, warm, and stopped squirming as I cradled her against my chest.
While I held her, the nurse suctioned out her nose and she let out another tiny wail.
“My baby!” Tria called out.
“I got her!” I replied. “She’s okay! Pissed off, but okay.”
I heard myself laugh, but the sound seemed detached and distant. The nurse wiped her down once more with a soft little scrap of cloth, and I just stared at her face.
“She’s beautiful,” I said.
“She is,” the nurse replied. “One of the prettiest I’ve seen.”
Deep inside, I knew it was a line of bullshit she told every new father, but I didn’t care. I was completely sure it was the truth. She was the most beautiful baby in the world. Once she was cleaned off, there was no doubt about it in my mind.
“Is she okay?” Tria asked as I carried the tiny, wrapped up bundle over to her.
“She’s great,” I said. “Better than great. She got a ten on some scale, which is the best you can get, so she’s obviously awesome. Even the nurse said she was the best. She’ll probably get a full ride to whatever Ivy League school she wants.”
Tria nodded, but she didn’t seem convinced.
“She’s fantastic,” I said again. I tightened my arms a little—terrified of holding her either too tightly or too loosely.
“I can’t hold her,” Tria whispered. Fresh tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.
“Soon,” I told her. I tried to look to where the doctor was working on her, but when I realized he was stapling her stomach, I had to look away. “I think he’s almost done.”
“We’re going to get you to the recovery room in just a few minutes,” he said. “Once we get you all settled in there and make sure you are doing as well as your daughter, then you’ll be able to hold her yourself.”
“You have her?” Tria asked, her voice still a little cloudy.
“I got her, babe,” I assured her. “I got her, and she’s great…she’s doing great. She’s not even crying or anything.”
Remembering what the nurse had done, I held our daughter’s cheek up against Tria’s. Tria closed her eyes and calmed a little.
“Are you sure she’s okay?”
I looked at the nurse, who came over and touched the baby’s cheek. She squirmed slightly in the bundle of blue and pink striped blankets but didn’t make a noise.
