Her first sound was more bleat than wail, but she had ten fingers and ten toes, and that was all Decker cared about. Wrinkled and red, her skin covered with something akin to cold cream, she seemed perturbed by the world rather than scared by it. Decker watched as Georgina, the labor nurse, scooped his daughter from the obstetrician’s arms into her own. After rubbing the infant with a towel and giving her a quick exam, the nurse swaddled her in a blanket. The baby was finally presented to Papa for inspection.
She had a mottled face, her nose scrunching as she beeped rather than cried. Her eyes were closed, lids as thin as onion-skin. Downy fuzz covered her scalp. Decker took a gloved index finger and placed it on a tiny palm. Slowly, soft pink digits encircled his finger. It brought tears to his eyes.
“Of course she’s perfect!” Georgina folded thick arms across her bosom. “We only deliver perfect babies here.”
Decker shifted his attention from his daughter to his wife. Rina’s eyes were red-rimmed, her lips moving in silent prayer. Damp black tresses lay across her forehead. Never had she looked so beautiful.
