A Beaumont Family Christmas

“Found one.”

“Perfect.” I show him what I have in my arms. “Can you think of anything else?”

“Nope. We can come back after we pick him up. There’s a stroller we’re going to grab on our way out. It’s a bassinet type. It’s cute. I like it.”

“And impractical,” I tell him. “We need one that fits the car seat.”

Harrison shrugs. “Eh, I like this one. He can have two. Also, I found a crib. It’s black and awesome.”

“Harrison,” I groan, but he smiles. He kisses me quickly and says, “Black is manly, and our little guy needs all the confidence-boosting he can get. You can decorate his room in whatever as long as he has a music corner and a black crib. Deal?”

I roll my eyes, knowing I can’t win all the battles. “Deal. But I get the final say on his name. I don’t want to call this baby Elquinton or something like that.”

“Wow, babe, did you think of that name right now?”

“Let’s go, Harrison. I want to get him home and snuggle.”

“Me too,” he says. “Me too.”9HarrisonI remember the day Quinn arrived on my doorstep, all I had was a motorcycle. A cheap one at that. I had to use my mom’s car, which wasn’t anything fancy or safe by today’s standards, and my sister, Yvie, often had it. The band had just started getting a sizable following and our records sold, but management pocketed most of the money back then, so I bought a run-down four-door that barely fit Quinn’s car seat. This car lasted a month or two before I invested in an SUV, something big enough to protect my son.

Today, I don’t have that issue.

When Katelyn and I arrived at the hospital, it was business as usual. I followed her to the nursery, where we found Ramona meeting with the nurse I had met the day before. Both women smiled softly, and the nurse told us to go on in and get the boy. Right then, I hated the way she said “the boy” because I already started considering him my son, which according to the rules of fostering, thanks to the internet, you shouldn’t get attached. I’m supposed to disassociate and remember he belongs to someone else, but I can’t. From the moment Katelyn told me she wanted to bring him home, to make him a part of our family, giving him the title of “son” is all I’ve thought about.

I let Katelyn lead and standby in case she needs a hand. She’s a natural at getting our baby dressed. She talks to him in a low voice, coos at him, and gently rubs her fingers over his soft skin. He reacts to her, lifting his small cheek in an attempt to smile. Still, I can’t get over how small he is, and I don’t remember Quinn looking so fragile, so delicate. Katelyn dresses him in one of the outfits she picked out at the store and asks Ramona to take our picture.

“Yes, but you can’t post it on social media,” she reminds us.

“I know,” Katelyn says.

We pose and smile for a few photos, and then Ramona hands Katelyn her phone back. “It’s your first official family photo,” she says. I don’t miss the words she’s used. She, too, must feel like we have a green light to adoption. Those words give me hope.

“No, that’ll come tomorrow when he meets his brother and sisters, aunts and uncles, and cousins,” Katelyn says as she looks at the baby. “Yes, that’s right, my little man. You have a big family waiting to meet you.”

“We should go,” I say as I put my hand on Katelyn’s lower back. “We need to get back to the store and call the kids.” Katelyn nods and continues to look at the bundle in her arms. I can’t blame her. I’m mesmerized by him as well. She sets him down in his car seat, which seems far too big for him, even with the support piece I installed out in the parking lot. The nurse comes over after Katelyn has buckled him, checks the restraints, and gives us the instructions for his oxygen tank. Honestly, this part is makes me nervous. What if I give him too much or not enough? And what if the oxygen isn’t enough for him at night and he needs medical attention? Is he going to be strong enough to cry and let us know?

“I’m going to miss you,” she says to him. “You’re all set. Does this mean you won’t volunteer anymore?”

Katelyn shakes her head. “No, I’ll still come a couple of days a week, once we get settled and in a routine.”

The nurse smiles. “I look forward to updates.”

When given the all-clear, I grab the handle and remember how cumbersome and awkward car seats are. “You’d think someone would come up with a better system,” I mumble as we walk out of the nursery. We come around the corner, toward the nurse’s station, and everyone has gathered there. They’re clapping, not for us, but for Baby John Doe because he’s going home. Katelyn hugs a few of the women and promises to bring him back after we’ve returned from vacation.