Seventeen years ago, after giving birth to my first baby, I was lying in my hospital room with my newborn sleeping in the little crib beside my bed. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Every tiny movement felt magical.
That first night, a nurse quietly came in and asked if I wanted them to take the baby to the nursery for a few hours so I could rest. I smiled and said no. I wanted my baby right next to me so I could keep staring at her.
The next night was different. Exhaustion finally caught up with me. When the nurse came in for her rounds, I asked if someone could take the baby to the nursery for a couple of hours so I could sleep.
The nurse suddenly looked confused. Then her face turned pale.
She said slowly, “Your baby is supposed to stay here with you. We don’t have a nursery.”
I thought she misunderstood and explained that a nurse had come the night before offering to take the baby so I could sleep.
She shook her head firmly.
“No one would ever take your baby from your room,” she said. “That’s not something we do here.”
In that moment, the exhaustion vanished and a chill ran through me.
To this day, I still wonder who came into my room that first night—and why.
