Emotion wells up in my chest, and there's nowhere for it to go. Already, I'm horrified that I might fail this tiny human who depends on me. There's nobody else to do this for me. I have to do it on my own, without Ivy, until she wakes up. Until she comes back to us.
And I’ve never been so scared in my life.
36 Santiago
"Have you thought of a name for her yet?" Katie asks.
I look up at the nurse watching me from the doorway. She's been here every step of the way, keeping me updated on Ivy and helping me process each milestone of my daughter's transition from the womb to the incubator to the real world.
My daughter's tiny fingers curl inside mine as I cradle her against my bare chest. Something I’ve admittedly come to look forward to every day. They tell me she's doing well, and every day seems to be a new learning curve. So far, I’ve accomplished feeding her and changing her diapers, though I still feel as if I'm fumbling through the process every time.
She hasn't been allowed to meet any of the other family just yet, but they've been able to see her through the window of a special visiting room, offering smiles and waves with tears in their eyes.
Ivy is still in the ICU, still asleep. Unchanging, even as my world is changing every second. She should be here for this. She should be holding our baby's hand too. Stroking her hair and laughing at how terribly I fail when I try to bottle-feed her, or as I’m trying to ascertain which part of the diaper is back and which is front.
It's all so overwhelming and painful. And it's all I can do to focus on each moment rather than the large picture in front of me. The one where the dark reality is, I might not ever get to see Ivy with our baby.
"I don't want to pick a name until her mother wakes up," I confess quietly.
Katie offers me a sad smile, leaning against the doorframe. "I get it. But at some point, that little beauty will need a name. Maybe you can think of something you would both like. Her mother's middle name, perhaps."
"Perhaps." I shrug noncommittally.
Agreeing means admitting that Ivy won't ever be able to help me choose, and I don't think I can ever accept that.
Katie slips away quietly, leaving me alone with my daughter. Her eyes are less cloudy now, and when she looks up at me, there is a fascination in her features as her gaze moves over my face. I was so convinced she would be terrified, but all I see is wonder. I understand that because I feel it, too, whenever I look at her.
So small. So fragile. The tiniest fingers and toes. Skin softer than I even knew was possible. It seems like everything is a threat to her, and I am already dreading how I will manage to protect her from the overwhelming dangers of this world.
"You are beautiful," I whisper to her. "Just like your mother. I think you will meet her one day soon. Let us hope."
Her eyes grow sleepy, and she scrunches up her face, a tiny smile forming as she starts to drift off. Katie told me newborns do that sometimes when they have gas or when they are cozy. I suppose right now, she must be cozy.
It is the smallest sign of relief in this landscape of uncertainty.
* * *
"We're going to miss you, little beauty." Katie strokes the baby's cheek, and I nod at her.
I appreciate everything the staff has done for us. If I'm being honest, I would not have survived these last few weeks without them guiding me every step of the way. But now we are being discharged, and I am free to take my daughter home.
A new, alarming journey.
"Thank you, Katie."
She hands me the diaper bag and holds the door open, where Marco is already waiting for me in the hall.
"Everyone is waiting to meet her," he informs me. "The staff cordoned off a section of the waiting room on the fifth floor for the occasion."
I grimace, and Marco shrugs. At times like these, being at a Society hospital is not necessarily a good thing. They can be too accommodating when they think it will please their patients.
I follow Marco down the hall, and we step into the elevator together. He glances down at the baby and then back at me. "You look like a natural."
"None of this came naturally," I answer dryly.
My brow is sweating, and I'm clammy, already considering a hundred different things that could go wrong. The elevator getting stuck. The cables snapping, plummeting us to the ground floor. Trapping us in here without formula for the baby. A gas bubble getting caught in her belly that I can't dislodge. Vomit. Poop. Pee. Those are only just the beginning.
There will be colds and shots at the doctor's office. And boys. Oh God, she's going to date someone eventually. And I'll have to murder him, and then she's going to hate me too.
I glance at Marco with panic in my eyes. "I don't know if I can do this."
"You can." He reaches out, squeezing my arm. "You will just take it one day at a time. Don't think about anything else. Just this minute. Then the next. Don't even think about tomorrow yet. We'll worry about that when it comes."
I release a shaky breath and nod. Just this minute. I can do that.
The elevator opens, and I step out, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. A group of smiling, eager faces is waiting for us when we turn the corner into the waiting room.
