She smiles.“Come on back.”
We follow the nurse down a hallway lined with framed kid drawings in marker—dads with triangle bodies, moms with hair like spaghetti, lopsided houses with hearts in the windows.My chest tightens around the simplest possible definition of family.
We stop at a station where Grayce is weighed and measured, then are shown into the exam room, which is overly bright.The examination table is covered with a strip of crinkly paper, and a mobile of wooden birds turns over it slowly in the breeze of an air vent.We both take a seat on colorful plastic chairs.
The nurse turns to face us, clipboard in hand.“Okay, Mom and Dad, what seems to be the problem?”
My entire body buzzes as if I’ve been struck by lightning and I can tell by the stricken look on Maddie’s face, she’s as shocked as I am.
It’s the first time we’ve been calledmomanddad, and I’m not prepared for the weight of it.
Maddie glances at me, then to the nurse, “Um… we’re actually her guardians, but we’re going to be adopting her.”
The nurse smiles knowingly.“That’s awesome.But here’s a hint—get used to the mom and dad names.It’s okay to call yourselves that now.”
Another look passes between me and Maddie, and I can see she’s wondering if that’s appropriate.I grin at her.“Hi, Mom.”
Maddie’s eyes sparkle.“Hi, Dad.”
The nurse gets us back on track.“Okay, so what’s wrong with the little dumpling?”
We’re asked a series of questions and we answer in a rhythm that surprises me both in its ease and in how much there is to say.
“Fevers?”
“No.”
“Cough?Congestion?”
“Not really.Fussy, ear pulling,” Maddie supplies.
“Eating?”
“Down a bit,” I say, because this morning she pushed the bottle away after a few minutes and then cried because she wanted it back.
“Any allergies?”
“None,” Maddie says, eyes on Grayce like she’s seeing her for the first time.If we’re mom and dad, then that makes her our daughter.
The nurse makes notes, leaves, and almost instantaneously the doctor is there.She’s probably in her early forties, sharp but kind eyes, and the kind of smile that looks like she knows how to talk to grown-ups and babies without losing the attention of either.“I’m Dr.Klemmer.Brienne called this morning to ask me to see you.So sorry Grayce isn’t feeling well.”She moves to the sink to wash her hands.“I understand Grayce might have a sore ear.”
“Her right,” Maddie murmurs.
Dr.Klemmer takes the otoscope and approaches with confidence.“I’m going to take a look, but she’s not going to like it.Just hold her steady.”
Grayce does not appreciate any of this.The second that light comes near her ear she shrieks, limbs windmilling, little heels drumming against Maddie’s stomach.
Maddie murmurs, “It’s okay, Graycie.”
“Do you want me to—” I start.
“I’ve got her,” Maddie says, which I expected.Then, after a beat, she says, “Maybe you can put a hand on her legs.”
“Copy that.”I slot my palm over Grayce’s shins, feel the tiny muscles tense and stutter under my skin.“Hey, Graycie,” I murmur.“We got this.Five seconds, tops.Six if you’re tough.”
“Mmm,” the doctor hums, peering.“Right ear looks angry.Left is slightly inflamed.Classic otitis media.”
My stomach bottoms out.“That sounds serious.”
