The case manager went over the paperwork, handed everything to me, and disappeared while they were doing the car seat test on Baby Doe. I’m on my own. Well, not exactly on my own. Jake has already come to my rescue. Twice.
First by installing the car seat. Which I could’ve done on my own but still appreciated the help. Besides, he looked hot as fuck doing it, and then, he called when he sensed I was stressed out. Just hearing his voice eased the tension in my shoulders.
I rotate them in a circle. Except, the tension is back. I should’ve asked him to come to the hospital with me.
What’s wrong with you? You’re a strong, capable woman. You can handle anything on your own. But it sure is nice to have a strong man in my corner. I gnaw on my bottom lip as I shove all thoughts of Jake to the back of my mind.
“You’re going to be fine.” The nurse places her hand on my upper arm. “It’s normal to feel like you’re ill-equipped to take a baby home. This happens whether you’ve given birth or not.” Her lips curve upward into a smile. “Actually, we’re worried a lot more if a mother isn’t looking like she’s going to throw up. It means you take your responsibilities to her seriously.”
“I do.”
“Good.” She squeezes and let’s go. “You’re going to do just fine. Are you hooked up with the online foster care group?” She names a group on social media.
“No. What’s that?”
“It’s an online group of foster parents who’ve taken in substance exposed children. They’d be a great resource for you. Many of the things you’ll experience with Baby Grace will be typical, but there’ll be some things that happen which you might not expect.” She sinches the drawstrings on the bag and sits it next to the diaper bag that I brought.
“Baby Grace?”
“We gave her the nickname of Grace because it was only through the grace of God that she was found when she was and taken straight to the hospital.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“We thought it fit her perfectly.”
“It does.” I stare down at the baby swaddled in the hospital blanket. Her perfectly formed bow mouth moves and flexes in her sleep. “What things might happen?”
“It’s hard to say because each child is different. But many substance-exposed children will be irritable, struggle with sensory issues, and as they age, may show signs of hyperactivity and attention deficits.”
What am I doing? Why in the hell did I let my mom convince me to do this? I should’ve gone with my gut and said no. My anxiety shoots through the roof.
Take a deep breath. You’ve got this. “I’ll add myself to the group as soon as I get home.”
“Great.” She claps her hands. “Okay. She’s all yours. Now, I need to see you feed and change her. As soon as those steps are complete, you’ll strap her into the car seat, and I’ll go down with you to ensure she’s properly restrained in your vehicle.”
I block out my nerves and un-swaddle the baby. As her arms and legs break free, she kicks and swings her arms in the air, scrunches up her face, and cries. Breathe. Deeper. I count to five and slowly exhale.
That’s better. It no longer feels like I’m going to collapse on the floor.
“You’re doing fine,” the nurse says.
Yeah, right. She’s crying. I’m not doing fine. The nurse is going to snatch her away from me, march to the office, call Iris and tell her what a poor choice I am in a foster parent.
“Change her diaper swiftly and put on her going home outfit. She’s only upset because her cocoon was disturbed.”
I briskly work through the motions of changing her and putting on the outfit I brought. The yellow color of the onesie brings out her olive complexion.
I’ve changed babies before. When I was thirteen, I babysat three kids for the summer, and as paramedics, we simulated on fake babies and subsequently worked up to actual infants as part of our training. Despite the shaking, I know what I’m doing.
The nurse instructs me to fasten the baby into the car seat, hooks the carrier on my arm, and points to the door. “Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, we’re alone. Grace and I are alone.
From the driver’s seat, I can’t see her unless I turn in my seat and lean into the back. “Here we go, baby. I don’t know what I’m doing, so if you do, try not to be too disappointed.”
The drive from the city to Brookhaven is quiet. She hasn’t made a peep since we left the parking lot.
I flick on the blinker and turn down Main Street. Everything looks the same. Blossom & Bloom has the same baskets of flowers hanging in front of the shop with Rosemarie waving from behind the register. Across the street, Louise strides out of the library doors and steps onto the sidewalk. She also greets me as I drive past.
