Our first night together was spent in a hotel room far away from home. I remember talking to my mother and trying to describe this incredible little being who had come into our lives – so beautiful, so perfect. And she had been a complete angel since we had left the hospital – rode peacefully in the car, drank her bottles enthusiastically, burped with gusto and then drifted off to sleep. Peter and I were feeling quite confident in our parenting skills. So what that we hadn’t really had much time to read any parenting books? This baby stuff was a breeze. My mother, a pediatrician and mother of seven, asked us if we wanted her to fly out to be with us and help out during the first week or so. She had done that for my sister and brothers when their children were born and they considered her a baby whisperer. We told her we’d love her help, but there was no reason to hurry. We had everything under control. “Take your time,” we reassured her, “we’ll be fine.”
That night Emma was up crying all night – in a hotel – surrounded by people – with only about 2 square feet of walking room – and brand new parents who, as it turned out, did not have a clue what to do. The next morning, after we all got a good nap, we laughed at our over-confidence and put a call into my mother. “Mom,” I said, “how fast do you think you can get here?”
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