The Gift

She was glistening, from sweat and from the afterglow. The wisp at her hairline that escaped her bun framing her face and shining in the stark light looked like a crown, or a halo. She was radiant. She was surprised that the experience wasn’t as painful as people made it seem. It was definitely intense, but not painful. It was her first time, and it really wasn’t that bad. She actually enjoyed this, she realized. She sat there, blissed out, feeling elated. Feeling proud, as her body settled and her senses returned to her.

They handed her the baby, now cleaned and burrito wrapped. She asked the nurse if it was a girl or boy. “A girl” the nurse cooed. She beamed. A girl. She glanced at the tiny face, the pink, petal like, perfect lips, the dark, grey brown eyes, the flat little nose. Her nose. The dark hair, so much dark hair, that lay like a pile of velvet on the tiny head. She kissed her lips, and sniffed her head. And rubbed the tiny face against hers. She studied the hands. She unbundled the burrito and took off the diaper, and saw the swelling at the navel and what was left of the cord. She rolled her over and saw a small birthmark on her right butt cheek, shaped like a strawberry. She smelled her butt, she couldn’t help it. She wanted to know all the smells this baby made. She sniffed her mouth with every lazy yawn. She ran her pinky finger along those lashes and couldn’t help but marvel at those perfect nails on the tiny hand. Such elegant hands. The hands of a perfect little lady. She kissed the feet, she kissed the belly, the head, she sniffed and kissed, and rubbed. She beamed and wondered how she could’ve made something so absolutely, unquestionably, perfect. She’d never felt such unbridled elation in her life. She reached over to the bedside table, next to the large cup of ice chips and almost empty pack of 5 gum that, near single handedly, got her through the labor, and grabbed the small folded bundle she’d carried with her for the past seven weeks. She unfurled it and slowly, carefully, slid the little gray and white onesie over the mound of hair, down the flat nose, across the rosy cheeks and lips. She slipped the elegant hands through the arm holes of the outfit and clasped it closed over the diaper. She ran her finger over the embroidered barn owl and read the many phrases adorning it. “I love you.” “Je t’aime.” “Ti amo.” “Te quiero.” “Ich liebe dich.”

She heard a knock at the door.

A tall, thin woman in a sweatsuit walked in. They smiled at each other. The woman kissed her on her forehead and then stared at the tiny baby along with her. Tears slowly rolled down both their faces as they observed the baby in silent awe together.

She nodded. The woman gave her a questioning look. But she nodded and gave a small smile in return. She kissed and handed the baby to the woman. The woman gently cradled, caressed and cooed at the baby. The woman kissed her on her forehead, one last time and whispered “thank you.” She nodded. The woman left with the baby.

She sat and waited for the paperwork, which appeared before her a grueling 18 seconds later. She signed away her rights to her daughter, officiating the closed adoption.

She sat there alone, feeling as if her heart had been ripped into tiny pieces. She made and followed through with the hardest decision of her life. She relaxed into the hospital bed, and let her head lay heavy against the pillows. She quietly sobbed through her smile, as her empty body and heart ached, from the realization that she’d likely never see her baby again, and the pride of giving her baby the best that she could offer her. A good home and a onesie, with all her love.