Free His Bundle of Love / the Color of Courage by Patricia Davids Page B

bed in front of her. She was so small!
    The baby lay on her back with her scrawny arms folded against her chest, and her hands resting beside her cheeks. A white bandage covered most of her right side. Wires ran from small patches on her chest and legs. Thick tape across her cheeks held a breathing tube in her mouth. Clear tubing tied into her shriveled umbilical cord led to IV pumps beside the bed. Her long legs looked like they belonged on a frog. She didn’t look anything like Caitlin had imagined she would.
    Had she caused this? She didn’t smoke, didn’t do drugs. She’d tried to eat right, but the stuff at the soup kitchens wasn’t always that healthy. Once, she’d even shoplifted a bottle of vitamins. If only she’d gone to the free clinic again and gotten another checkup, maybe they would have prevented this. What if it was her fault, and now her baby was suffering because of it?
    Caitlin waited to feel joy, happiness, love—all the things she had known she would feel when she first saw her baby—all the things she wanted desperately to feel.
    Instead, she felt guilt and grief. In the dreams she had cherished for months when she was cold and hungry and alone, she had imagined a plump, sweet-smelling baby she could hold close to her heart. Nothing like this.
    Caitlin looked up at the nurse. “Are you sure this is my baby?” she asked, then cringed. How stupid did that sound? What mother wouldn’t know her own child?
    The nurse smiled. “I’m sure she’s yours. We put an identification band on her right away. Both you and Mick have one with the same number on it. See? Has she changed a lot since she was born?”
    “I never saw her. At least, I don’t remember if I did.”
    They were waiting for her to say something else, Caitlin sensed it. But what could she say when there was nothing but emptiness and sorrow inside. Was this the way her own mother had felt? Please, don’t let that be true.
    She managed a smile, but she felt as if her face would crack. “Will she be okay?”
    “We’re doing everything we can. She has a good chance.”
    A good chance. To live? That meant there was a chance she could die. Coldness settled over Caitlin and she shivered. An alarm sounded. She looked at the monitors, but she couldn’t tell anything from the glowing numbers.
    Mick touched her arm. “It’s another baby.”
    When Sandra left to answer the alarm, he pulled up a chair and sat beside Caitlin. “I know she’s tiny, but she’s really cute, don’t you think? Her hair looks like it may be red. She weighs one pound, twelve ounces today.”
    Caitlin couldn’t listen to him. Why didn’t he shut up? His babbling made her headache pound harder than ever. She wanted to concentrate on the baby—her baby. The tiny face swam out of focus, and Caitlin realized tears had filled her eyes.
    “You can touch her,” Mick offered.
    “She’s so little. What if I hurt her?”
    “You won’t.”
    Cautiously, Caitlin extended her hand and lightly stroked the baby’s downy hair. Moving her fingertips to a miniature arm, Caitlin marveled at the softness of her baby’s skin as she stroked its length. The baby jerked once and kicked out with her legs. Her tiny face screwed up, and she began to cry, but no sound came from her. Caitlin snatched her hand away. “What’s the matter with her?”
    Mick stood and cupped his hands across the baby, quieting her with soft words. He looked down at Caitlin. “Don’t stroke her, just hold her like this. My little girl likes to be contained. Her skin is too thin and sensitive to stroke.”
    Caitlin’s fright turned to anger as she listened to his lecture. He didn’t have any right to be here. Maybe she had asked for his help once, but he had no business saying the baby was his.
    Sandra came back to the bedside. “Very good, Mick. You’re reading her signals.”
    “Signal? I don’t understand.” Caitlin glanced at her in confusion.
    “Preemies have their own type of language.