“Deal,” I agreed as I watched him peel back the lid of the cup.
Some things never changed.
We’d washed and scrubbed our hands, and as I took a solid deep breath, the nurse wheeled me into the room.
I was meeting my daughter—for the very first time.
It didn’t matter that I’d missed out on her first wailing cry as the doctor pulled her from my womb. It didn’t matter that circumstances had separated us until this moment.
I was here now.
The room was quiet, and a sense of calm met me as soon as we crossed the threshold. I’d seen NICUs in movies and TV shows but never up close. Nurses and other parents greeted me with a nod, welcoming me into the small club I now belonged to. It was a sudden kinship I never knew I’d have.
A mother sat in a wooden glider, tightly holding a tiny baby against her chest. She lovingly looked down at her son, touching the smooth skin of his face, as she softly sang. In comparison to those in the incubators, he was huge, yet he still looked so fragile.
There were others, too—babies and families that humbled me beyond words. I didn’t know what we were going to face, but I knew it would be nothing compared to some of the things I witnessed as I passed by the incubators in that NICU. My heart silently reached out for them as we made our way forward. Jude walked behind my wheelchair as the nurse pushed me forward, his arm firmly linked to my shoulder, as we were escorted to the corner where Meara was.
The first thing I noticed were the wires.
There were so many wires and tubes—in her arms and legs, wrapped around her nose, and taped to her feet. It was horrifying at first. Yet I knew from experience that, sometimes, the road to recovery wasn’t pretty, and without it, I also knew she wouldn’t be here.
And neither would I.
The second thing I noticed was her face, her little cherub face.
Jude was wrong. She wasn’t just beautiful. She was breathtaking—the perfect blending of each of us. As my eyes welled up with tears, I reached toward her, my hands touching the plastic separating us.
Ten tiny toes. Ten perfect fingers.
Somehow, we’d managed to do the impossible.
“Would you like to touch her?” a nurse came over to greet us, her voice calm and soft.
“Can I?” I asked, my eyes never leaving Meara’s side.
She was resting on her back, her head cocked to the side. Her little hands lay high above her in a touchdown position. Seeing her like that, in such a baby-like pose, gave me hope that beyond the wires and tubes clinging to her now, I’d see her outside of here—bigger, healthier, and in my arms.
She wasn’t even supposed to be here. We’d done everything to prevent this day from occurring. But no form of birth control could stop this little one from making her presence known. She’d come bursting into the world, like a bright white comet careening into our lives, and there was no way she could possibly be leaving as quickly as she’d arrived.
No, she was a fighter.
She’d fought for her place in this world, and now, she’d fight to keep it.
The nurse helped me sit up a bit in my wheelchair and explained what to do. I was nervous. I was so afraid I’d hurt my daughter or upset her. I wanted so badly to touch her, comfort her, and feel that she was really here. The little nudger, who had been kicking me for so many months, was alive. I wasn’t awake when she’d been brought into this world, and suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by the fear that I might do something wrong.
I could feel Jude’s soothing presence behind me, supporting me.
“Preemies do very well with constant touch,” the nurse explained. “She can’t be held quite yet, but right now, a gentle warm hand on her stomach will let her know that you’re here, that you’re both here,” she added, looking over to Jude. “And believe me, it will do wonders.”
I nodded, still a bit hesitant but now filled with purpose. If my touch could aid her healing, I would be here around the clock if I had to. I put my shaky hand into the plastic holes of the incubator and reached out for her.
The moment my fingers touched the smooth skin of her belly, tears rimmed my eyes.
My little girl.
Every minute of my life, every second spent in this hospital, had been worth it because it’d led up to this precious moment in time. I felt Jude’s firm hand grasp my shoulder. With my free hand, I reached up and gripped his fingers.
Now . . . now, my life was complete.
THE ELEVATOR DINGED, and I took a brief moment before stepping off.
I’d made my rounds over the past few days as Lailah recovered. I’d picked up pudding at the cafeteria and traded jokes with the staff. I’d even stopped by Human Resources and said hello to Margaret, who had somehow managed to graduate from wool suits to more modern attire. When I had seen the picture frame on her desk of her in the arms of a smiling man, I’d guessed the wool suits had been tossed right around the time the diamond ring on her finger appeared.