I still remember it like it was yesterday.
Seventeen years ago, after giving birth to my first baby, I lay in the hospital room with her sleeping peacefully in the small crib beside me. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Every tiny movement felt like magic. That first night, a nurse came in quietly and offered to take her to the nursery for a few hours so I could rest. I smiled and said no—I didn’t want her out of my sight.
The next night was different.
Exhaustion had finally caught up with me. My body ached, my eyes burned, and all I wanted was a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep. When a nurse came in again, I asked if she could take my baby to the nursery, just for a little while.
She froze.
Her face lost color as she looked at me, confused and uneasy. “Your baby is supposed to stay with you,” she said slowly. “We don’t have a nursery here… and no one would ever come take your baby from you.”
My heart dropped.
I tried to explain about the nurse from the night before—but she just shook her head.
No one had entered my room.
And suddenly, I wasn’t tired anymore.
