I still remember it like it was yesterday.
Seventeen years ago, after giving birth to my first baby, I was lying in the hospital room with her in the crib beside me. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Every little movement felt like a miracle.
That first night, a nurse came in quietly and offered to take my baby to the nursery so I could get some rest. I smiled and said no—I didn’t want to be apart from her. I just wanted to watch her sleep.
The next night was different.
Exhaustion finally hit me. I hadn’t slept, and everything felt heavier. When the nurse came in again, I asked if she could take my baby for a couple of hours so I could rest.
But instead of nodding, she froze.
Her face went pale.
She looked at me and said, slowly, “Your baby is supposed to stay with you at all times. We don’t have a nursery here. No one would ever come in and take your baby.”
My heart dropped.
I suddenly realized… someone had come into my room the night before—and it wasn’t a nurse.
