“She’s tiny,” he whispered.
My husband, Daniel, laughed. “Most newborns are.”
Max frowned at him. “No, Dad. I mean tiny tiny. Like if I sneeze wrong, she’ll fly away.”
Then he bent close to her and said, very solemnly, “I’m your big brother. I got you.”
I cried right there in that hospital bed.
So when we brought our daughter home the next afternoon, and Max suddenly refused to go near the nursery, I thought maybe the reality had finally hit him. I was exhausted, sore, leaking milk through my bra, and running on maybe two hours of sleep.
Daniel carried the baby upstairs in her car seat.👉 Read the Full Story
I followed behind with the diaper bag hanging off one shoulder and my overnight bag dragging against the carpet. Max trailed after us until we reached the nursery door.
Then he stopped.
Just stopped.
He stood there with one hand on the doorframe, staring into the crib after Daniel laid the baby down. His face changed in a way I had never seen before. He went pale. His mouth parted. His eyes got wide, but not in wonder.
In fear.
He took one step back.
Then another.
“Max?” I said. “Honey, what is it?”
