At work, my boss says, “If you don’t like what you’re doing, just wait a few weeks, it’ll change.”
I sat still in the rocking chair in our three-month-old daughter’s quiet room. The last gray light of evening slipped in around the curtains. I had finished nursing and was cuddling her on my shoulder. I held my hand against her tiny back and felt her warmth.
This was the child for whom we had prayed. She was here, she was real, she was perfect.
I thought, I’ve never been so happy.
She twitched and lifted her head. I smiled.
Then, before I could react, she smashed her face into my lip with all her force.
Her shrieking filled the little room. I struggled to hold onto this tiny flailing person. I licked my now-pulsing lip and wondered, Am I bleeding?