PUBLIC MARKS with tags family & birth

Child fiction book

The people in white coats rubbed you, measured you, and wrapped you cozy in a blanket. Then your dad grabbed you up. I was almost able to register your birth before falling into the black place. Your dad held you militantly at my side. The hovering white coats, eager to finish their protocols, just had to wait until I was stable before your dad consented to leave my side. Because, he was never about to leave yours. Hours later, when I woke up in Recovery, your dad brought you to me again. Finally, we met. I smelled you and touched you and memorized your face. It was primal, instinct, necessary. We imprinted on each other. For a long, long time the three of us rested on that bed together quietly, the way we still do so often, as a family. It was the beginning.