Birth

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I am laying in an incubator, swaddled in a pink blanket. My arms and legs are trapped within this cocoon, and they want to wave about in freedom. I look up at the bright, glaring lights of the nursery, the white walls covered in pastel pictures. I hear muffled sounds, not sure what they are or where they are coming from.

 

Later I am cradled in the arms of a nurse in her starched, white uniform. Her strides are quick and long. I left the warmth of the incubator and am accosted by the chill of the barren hallways. Where am I going?

 

I come to a room with a big bed, a lady lying in it. Her head is a mass of brown, disheveled hair, a pink gown surrounding her. Her bright, hazel eyes light up as she sees me, a smile curving upon her lips. She reaches her arms towards me, and the nurse gently places me in her embrace. Tears sprinkle on my face, as she speaks to me in hushed tones. I don’t know what she is saying but I like her voice. It is soft and calm.

 

A doctor in his own crisp uniform rushes in, yelling about something. He scares me and I start to cry in response to his belligerence. The nice lady holding me is talking back, her voice firm and insistent. I don’t know what they are talking about, but I wish the mean doctor would go away and leave the lady and I alone.

 

Instead, the nurse grabs me and walks me briskly back to my incubator. I can’t seem to stop crying, and the nurse neglects to comfort me. She puts me back into the warm incubator, swaddling me again in my pink blanket.I lay there, wondering what all that was about. My cries slowly subsides and I whimper myself to sleep.

 

Later, I wake up and see the nurse again, a small smile on her lips. She talks softly to me as she dresses me in a pink ruffle dress with pink bootie socks. I watch her hands intently, noticing every move she makes as she dresses me. She cradles me in her arms and takes me down the cold, bare hallways the same room as the nice lady. Only she is not in bed. She is standing, a camel suit with a black bag hanging from her elbow. She smiles when she sees me, and stretches her arms out to me again. I smile back at her, her hazel eyes tearing up again, her mascara running down her face. She still looks beautiful to me, and I feel enveloped her in arms, safe in her embrace. She walks me out of the barren room and go down the cold hallway again. Only this time I don’t mind the chill. I am warmed by the nice lady’s arms and her tears on my face.