“You gonna help her with all that?” Ella asks, one brow raised. “Or am I about to use my vacation days now?”
I huff a dry breath, shaking my head. “No. I can manage.”
“Okay.” Her voice has softened. “I just want you to be prepared, is all.”
“I will be.”
“Good. She’s lucky to have you,” she says, giving my shoulder a firm rub.
I glance back at Karissa, still asleep. “I hope so.”
* * *
Karissa still hasn’t woken up and I still haven’t moved from this chair.
Her breathing is steady, and her color looks better than it did earlier. I keep watching her chest rise and fall like if I stop, she’ll stop too.
A knock sounds on the door, and a nurse steps inside. She’s got a friendly, smiling face, and a clipboard tucked in her arms.
“How’s she doing?” she whispers, nodding toward Emma in my arms.
“She’s good,” I say. “Sleeping.”
She smiles. “You’re a natural.”
I don’t respond to that. I just look back down at Emma curled up on me.
The nurse takes a few steps closer. “If you want to rest, I can take her to the nursery for a bit. Just for a few hours so you can sleep. You’ve been with her since delivery.”
“She stays with me.” My tone is firm, not up for debate.
“Oh, of course,” she says, backing off. “Just offering.”
“I appreciate it,” I tell her, softer. “But I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
The nurse gives a friendly nod and sees her way out after checking over a few of the monitors.
On the corner of my eye, I catch Karissa’s hand twitch. I lean forward immediately, eyes locked on her hand and then her face.
“Karissa?”
Nothing.
I exhale, leaning back again. Emma lets out a sleepy sigh and presses closer to my chest. I look back at Karissa.
“She’s really cute,” I tell her. “You should wake up so you can see her,” I say, because who knows…maybe a little guilt trip will wake her.
A quiet knock sounds again, and I look up as another nurse slips in. Her smile is gentle, careful.
“Hi,” she says in a low voice. “I’m just coming to see if she’s ready to try her first feeding.”
My chest squeezes. Feeding. Right. Babies have to eat.
It should’ve crossed my mind sooner, but everything’s been about Karissa bleeding and Emma breathing and me trying not to fall apart in the middle of it.
The nurse holds up two tiny bottles.
“I brought a couple formula options,” she says. “Or we have donor milk—whichever Mom would prefer.”
