But I kept waiting and waiting and waiting.
I could see them all looking back at me in concern, then back at the baby.
Michael was busy washing up at the sink, so he didn’t see what was going on, but I knew immediately something was wrong.
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked urgently. “Tell me!”
The nurses all looked at each other, and one of them, Lucille, broke off, picking up my daughter and carrying snugly in her arms.
She brought her over to me, and I reached for her, pulling her into my arms like they’d taken the most precious gift away from me without plans of giving her back. They gave me teasing bits and pieces of her until I was a whimpering, needful mess.
The moment she was in my arms I felt at peace.
She was absolutely perfect.
Dark brown hair like me. Cheeks like Michael. Long fingers and toes like Michael. A heart shaped chin like me.
Then she opened her eyes, and I immediately knew something was wrong.
Because the entire iris of her eye was covered in a milky white, circular film. In both eyes.
“What’s wrong with her?” I cried, looking up to Michael for help.
He frowned and walked over, eyes on our baby, and immediately scowled.
“What it looks like is a cataract,” he said, running his thumb over the baby’s cheek lovingly.
His eyes met mine and they’d never looked more serious.
“She’s fine,” he said soothingly.
“A cataract isn’t fine!” I cried. “It’s not fine at all!”
My raised voice must’ve made the baby annoyed because she started to cry.
Michael immediately reached forward and took her out of my arms, and I felt the loss like a punch to the chest.
Michael brought our baby up to his chest and cradled her, brushing his nose along the top of her head as he breathed her in.
“Look at me, Nikki,” he ordered.
I peeled my eyes away from where his hand was holding her under her bottom, and looked at him.
He wasn’t worried.
Not even a little bit.
And that was what I needed to finally gain some control.
“What do we do?” I asked softly.
He leaned forward and took a seat on the side of my bed, running his hand along the length of my cheek.
“We let the pediatrician look at her. We talk to my father. My mother. But we do it all together. Because we can do nothing less,” he whispered.
A tear slipped down my cheek, and I looked down at my hands. Seeing them trembling, I took a deep breath and said, “I love you Michael. I’m sorry for freaking out.”
He pulled me to his chest, and my head rested next to the entire length of our baby’s body, and I just knew everything would be alright.
Why, you ask?
Because Michael said it would, that’s why.
***
Four hours later
“So you’re saying she’ll need to undergo surgery for this within the first three months of her life,” I asked the pediatrician I’d painstakingly chosen out of many in the East Texas area.
He nodded. “Having those taken care of is imperative. If you don’t, it could become malignant. It could stay the same. Or they could mean she’s blind for the rest of her life. And this is an easy fix. It’s relatively painless, but it is something she’ll have to be put to sleep for. Which is always a risk.”
I closed my eyes as tears started to form.
“Thank you, Dr. Rush,” Michael said, offering his hand. “We’ll follow up with the doctor in Dallas next Tuesday, like you said. We really appreciate you coming out and seeing her on your day off.”
I smiled through my tears.
That was awfully nice of Dr. Rush.
Most doctors didn’t do things like that.
Which was why I’d chosen Dr. Rush in the first place.
Bringing my knees up to my chest, I moved Carolina up until she was resting on my upraised legs, and stared at her.
She was so beautiful.
And perfect.
And it broke my heart that she had to have this done at such a young age.