Our last night at the hospital, we sent Juliet to the nursery. We felt bad about it. Like we were bad parents. We had asked for this, after all. In the middle of the night, the Mean Nurse brought Juliet in crying. She had learned to wake up when she was hungry. Phew.
Shit.
The Mean Nurse ripped off Melissa’s shirt and stripped Juliet.
“Skin to skin,” she said.
When Juliet felt Melissa’s chest, she opened her mouth wide and flailed her head, side to side. Like a fish, out of water, but wanting milk. Even with Melissa’s help, Juliet struggled to latch. When she did latch, she did it wrong and Melissa screamed. The scream startled Juliet and Juliet pulled away, taking a piece of Melissa’s nipple with her.
The screaming attracted another nurse’s attention. She came in and grabbed Melissa’s boob and Juliet’s head and mashed them together. While the Grabby Nurse grabbed, the Mean Nurse massaged, to help the milk flow. So she said.
Finally, Juliet got just the right grip. She took three hard sucks and fell asleep. We figured she was full.
The next day, they said we’d be out by ten. It was almost four when the fourth resident stopped by to repeat what the first three had said. Feed the baby.
Eventually, the Attending came to inspect the carseat. Not the baby, not the base of the carseat in the car. Just the seat. That’s all you need to take a baby home. You can’t drive the car without passing two tests. But you can have a baby if you can get a boner and a carseat. You don’t even have to prove you put it in. Not the boner, the seat.
It still hadn’t hit me when I walked through the door with Juliet. I had thought that would be the moment. My oldest brother said there’d be a moment.
Juliet cried most of the night while we tried to figure out breastfeeding. We felt accomplished when she ate for five minutes. I got out of bed and put her over my shoulder to burp. We walked into the living room and stood, looking out the window at the lights on the
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