Baby Daddy Proposes; Gets to Hold Baby

In less recent news, Baby Daddy got promoted from his former title to “fiance” by way of an eye-catching shiny rock set in a white gold hoop just big enough for my finger.

In more recent and slightly less cheerful news, my body and my daughter (yes, real life confirmed the ultrasound, I did give birth to a daughter) decided to break up, which was and is fairly heartbreaking.

An anecdote from the hospital just for you, dear reader:

Fiance, aka Baby Daddy, holds new daughter (gestational age, 18 weeks 1 day; real life age, approximately 30 minutes had she not been DOA). She is wrapped in a tiny white flannel blanket printed with little roses. She is ten and one half inches long (according to the measuring tape marked with her length and deposited by a too-cheerful nurse into a memory box) and weighs 336 grams, according to the nurse and to the best of my memory.

Fiance brings her close to where I half-sit in a hospital bed. I gaze at her for a moment, still in shock from her recent delivery. A tiny movement appears on her chest, a blinking like the blinking we saw on the ultrasound in the middle of her chest only days earlier.

“Her heart,” I say. It feels both nice and strange to put a definitively-gendered pronoun to her person. “It’s still beating.”

Fiance looks sympathetically at me and demonstrates that as his hands shake, her little head moves slightly and plays with light across my new daughter’s chest. There is no movement but for his hands.

“But,” I say. He’s right. There’s nothing else to say.

We say goodbye to her.


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