She arrived at 11:47 on a Thursday night in March, in a delivery room that smelled of antiseptic and was too cold, and she announced herself with a fury that made the nurse laugh and Marcus grip my hand so hard I told him to ease up and he did not ease up at all.
I had been in labor for fourteen hours. I had been calm for approximately the first three and progressively less calm after that. Marcus had been present in the specific way of a man who has been told his job is to stay and not flinch, and he had done it, had held my hand and passed ice chips and said very little because he had finally learned that saying very little was sometimes the right answer.
When she arrived I cried immediately and without any effort to control it.
They put her on my chest. She was small and red and she
