Coda Books 06 - Fear, Hope, and Bread Pudding (MM)

push!”
    And suddenly, the baby’s head came free. Her face was red and contorted into a grimace that would have been comical at any other time.
    “Oh my goodness!” Cole said, peeking around Taylor’s knee to look at the baby. “She looks mad, doesn’t she?”
    “Stop!” the doctor cried, with only the head out. “Stop right there honey. Take a break. We need to get her airway clear before she takes her first breath.” The nurses suctioned the baby’s nose and throat with practiced efficiency. “We’re all set now, Taylor. Next contraction, she’ll be free. Are you ready?”
    “She’s ready,” Cole and Larissa said together.
    “Push!” the doctor said again. Taylor bore down, too tired now to scream, and in the next instant, the baby was free, pink and wet in the doctor’s hands. Her first cry was a pathetic, angry warble, but it quickly grew to a shriek. The nurses wrapped her in a blanket, and one reached up to put the baby on Taylor’s stomach. She realized her error partway there. She shifted direction and handed the baby to Cole. The baby was halfway wrapped in a blanket but still slimy and covered with stuff I didn’t even want to try to identify. My first thought was you’re going to get your shirt dirty! but Cole obviously could not have cared less.
    The way he gazed at her took my breath away.
    The doctor shoved a strange bent pair of scissors into my hand and directed me toward the cord. I tried to follow through, but I was shaking so hard, I couldn’t squeeze them shut. I had to use both hands. After that, Cole and I were gently pushed out the door and into another room.
    “We’ll go someplace else to weigh her and check her Apgars,” the nurse told us. “Normally we do it right there in the room with mom, but adoptions are always special cases.”
    The other nurse smiled as she took the baby from Cole and began to unwrap her again. “You can bring Grandma and Grandpa in now. And you might want to take some pictures.”
    Those sounded like good ideas, yet I couldn’t do anything but watch as they weighed her and checked her over and cleaned her off. She was pink and wrinkled, with a cap of dark hair on her head. She screamed and the nurses cooed and laughed.
    “All ten fingers, all ten toes, and a good set of lungs too. Just the way we like them.”
    They bundled her into a blanket and handed her back to Cole. He immediately began unwrapping her again, until one of her hands popped out, an angry little fist waving in the air. He held it in his hand, as if inspecting the tiny nailbeds. “Look how long her fingers are,” he said to nobody in particular.
    I’d never seen him happier. I’d never seen him so perfectly at ease and at peace, as if his entire life had been nothing but a precursor to this moment. As if every thing he’d ever said or done had been leading him here. This baby was suddenly his everything.
    And my everything too.
    My knees gave out, and I fell heavily into the chair behind me. For months now, I’d concentrated only on getting us to this point, on supporting Cole and trying to keep him sane through it all. I’d thought only vaguely of what it meant to be a parent. Yes, we’d feed her and keep her warm and comfortable and safe.
    Safe?
    The absurdity of it nearly made me laugh out loud. I stared at her, screaming and flailing in Cole’s arms. He beamed at her, bouncing a bit on his toes, making soft cooing sounds to her. She was tiny and completely helpless. How could we possibly keep her safe?
    Blind terror made my head spin and my chest tight.
    No. Not tight.
    Empty.
    It was as if somebody had reached into my body and scooped out my heart, and now it lay in Cole’s arms in the form of a very loud, very red-faced baby. I thought of taking her home, and I began to panic. Nothing had prepared me for this. Nothing had prepared me for how impossible it was to take something so fragile and innocent into my care. The entire world seemed like a threat. Every piece of hard candy, every electrical outlet, every drapery cord. Every car and bookcase and swimming pool.
    And that was only the beginning.
    Later she’d have to go to school. To learn to ride a bike. To learn how cruel other kids could be. She’d get hurt, and Cole and I would feel it just as keenly as she. Every scraped knee, every broken bone, every broken heart, we’d be there, suffering with her, wishing we could protect her, but knowing we couldn’t. How did any parent survive?
    There