“The baby is not going anywhere. In fact, I can tell you as a father of four that you’ll often wish the baby would go somewhere overnight just so you can get a good night’s sleep.” He laughs at his own joke.
I don’t find it particularly funny. All I want is to meet my baby girl and see for myself that Cora is fine. I’ve spoken to Martin countless times since last night, and he has assured me that both Cora and my daughter were unscathed by the experience.
Everyone in mine and Cora’s family has seen the baby except me. Last night I drove myself crazy worrying about all the things that could go wrong from a home birth of a preemie. Dr. Phillips says they probably got the dates mixed up because she was full-term. That was good to hear.
Finally, I see the signs for the hospital, and as soon as the Uber comes to a stop, I pay the driver and hop out. I already have the room number and floor. The elevator takes too long, and I sprint to the stairs and take two at a time.
I stop outside Cora’s room to catch my breath and then push the door open softly. Cora is fast asleep, and the baby is in a raised crib next to the bed. I walk softly to the crib and stare down at the baby.
She’s not asleep, and she stares back at me with intelligent eyes as if she knows that I’m her dad. She has dark eyes like me, but her tiny features are Cora’s. The shape of her lips, her tiny nose, and the shape of her face. She’s beautiful.
As I study her, the most incredible thing happens. Love seeps into my heart and forces it to expand to painful proportions. This is my child. She has come from my body. Emotion overwhelms me, and my eyes fill with tears.
I love this tiny human with all of my being and I don’t even know her name.
“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”
I lift my head to find Cora awake and staring at me. I go to her and cup her face. “You’re both gorgeous.” I kiss her on the mouth and draw back to stare into her eyes. “You’re my hero.”
She laughs. “I think it’s karma for the way I used to speak about home births. It was quite comfortable, actually.”
I take her hand as she recounts what happened. Cora is one of the few women whose labor is short and intense, even with a first baby. “You were very brave.”
“I didn’t feel very brave then. I was just so glad to see that she’s all right.” She glances at the crib. “You should hold her. It’s the most incredible feeling.”
“Okay.” I pop into the bathroom to wash my hands, come back into the room, and gently lift her up.
I carry her to the visitors’ chair and sit down, staring at her. My heart almost bursts with love. Cora is right. Holding her little warm body against me like this makes me want to never let go of her. I make a silent vow. I’ll always take care of her and provide for her everything that she needs. She’ll never lack for anything, whether it be my time, my love, or material stuff.
“She looks just like you, “ I tell Cora.
“Except for her hair and hands. That’s purely you.”
“What will we name her? We can’t keep calling her, her,” Cora says.
“You have a point there. Any ideas?” I ask her. I know she’s given it a lot of thought and was just waiting for me before telling everyone else in our families.
“I thought of Taylor Clarkson,” Cora says softly.
“Taylor. I like it.” I glance down at my daughter. “Hey there, Taylor.” Her little mouth moves. “I think she’s smiling.”
Cora props herself on one hand. “I think she is.”
In the space of hours, Cora, Taylor, and I have become a real family. Cora gives me a list of last-minute things that she needs for the baby. She’ll most likely be discharged tomorrow, so I’ll have to shop nice and early and then come to the hospital to pick them up.
I spend the rest of the evening in her room until the nurses kick me out.
I’m too pumped to go home, and it’s still early. I grab an Uber to The Caroline.
There seems to be some sort of celebration going on.
“And there he is, the father of the baby!” Caroline shouts.
Cheers and claps follow Caroline’s words. People raise their glasses, and congratulations ring out. It seems that everyone got a free drink to celebrate the birth of Caroline’s grandchild.
At the bar, Tom reaches across the counter to shake my hand. “Drinks are on the house for you tonight.”
“Thank you,” I say. I ask for a beer, and while Tom gets it, I slip my phone out of my pocket.