She looked suspiciously at the bright yellow folder. I had printed the words "BIRTH PLAN" on the front and decorated it with stickers of baby bottles and storks. "What is this?"

"I've written out our preferences for the labor experience," I explained. "We want dim lighting and as much peace and quiet as possible, and we're going to play nature sounds. And we want to maintain my mother's mobility until it's time for the epidural. About pain relief—she's fine with Demorol but we wanted to ask the doctor about Nubain. And please don't forget to read the notes about the episiotomy."

Looking harassed, the nurse took the birth plan and disappeared.

I gave the hand pump to Hardy and plugged in the tape player. "Hardy, before you go, would you inflate the birth ball? Not all the way. Eighty percent would be best."

"Sure," he said. "Anything else?"

I nodded. "There's a tube sock filled with rice in the duffel. I'd appreciate it if you'd find a microwave oven somewhere and heat it for two minutes."

"Absolutely." As Hardy bent to inflate the birth ball, I saw the line of his cheek tauten with a smile.

"What's so funny?" I asked, but he shook his head and didn't answer, only continued to smile as he obeyed my instructions.

By the time Mama was brought into the room, the lighting had been adjusted to my satisfaction, and the air was filled with the sounds of the Amazon rain forest. It was a soothing patter of rain punctuated with the chirping of tree frogs and the occasional cry of a macaw.

"What are those sounds?" Mama asked, glancing around the room in bemusement.

"A rain forest tape." I replied. "Do you like it? Is it soothing?"

"I guess so," she said. "Although if I start to hear elephants and howler monkeys, you'll have to turn it off."

I did a subdued version of a Tarzan cry. and it made her laugh.

The gray-haired nurse went to help Mama from the wheelchair. "Is your daughter going to stay in here the whole time?" she asked Mama. Something in her tone gave me the impression she was hoping the answer would be "no."

"The whole time," Mama said firmly. "I couldn't do without her."

At seven o'clock in the evening, Carrington was born. I had picked the name from one of the soaps Mama and I liked to watch. The nurse had washed and wrapped her like a miniature mummy, and placed her in my arms while the doctor took care of Mama and stitched the places the baby had torn. "Seven pounds, seven ounces," the nurse said, smiling at my expression. We had gotten to like each other a little more during the birth process. Not only had I been less of an annoyance than she had anticipated, but it was difficult not to feel connected, if only temporarily, by the miracle of new life.

Lucky seven, I thought, staring at my little sister. I'd never had much to do with babies before, and I had never held a newborn. Carrington's face was bright pink and crumpled-looking, her eyes grayish-blue and perfectly round. Hair covered her head like the pale feathers of a wet chick. The weight of her felt about the same as a large sack of sugar, but she was fragile and floppy. I tried to make her comfortable, shifting her awkwardly until she was on my shoulder. The round ball of her head fit perfectly against my neck. I felt her back heave with a kitten-sigh, and she went still.

"I'll need to take her in a minute." the nurse said, smiling at my expression. "They'll have to check her out and clean her up."

I didn't want to let her go. A thrill of possessiveness went through me. She felt like my baby, part of my body, knotted to my soul. Impassioned to the verge of tears, I turned to the side and whispered to her. "You are the love of my life, Carrington. The love of my life."

Miss Marva brought a bouquet of pink roses and a box of chocolate-covered cherries for Mama, and a baby blanket she had made for Carrington. soft yellow fleece with hand-crocheted edges. After admiring and cuddling the baby for a few minutes. Miss Marva handed her back to me. She focused all her attention on Mama, fetching her a cup of ice chips when the nurse was too slow, adjusting the controls on her bed. helping her walk to the bathroom and back.

To my relief. Hardy appeared to drive us home the next day in a big sedan he had borrowed from a neighbor. While Mama signed papers and took a folder of postpartum instructions from the nurse, I dressed the baby in her going-home outfit, a little blue dress with long sleeves. Hardy stood beside the hospital bed and watched as I struggled to capture the tiny starfish hands and push them gently through the sleeves. Her fingertips kept catching and gripping the fabric, making it difficult to inch the dress over her arms.

"It's like trying to feed cooked spaghetti through a straw," Hardy observed.

Carrington grunted and complained as I managed to tug her hand through the sleeve. I

started on the other arm. and the first hand pulled right out of the dress again. I let out an exasperated puff. Hardy snickered.

"Maybe she doesn't like the dress," he said.

"Would you like to give it a try?" I asked.

"Hell, no. I'm good at getting girls out of their clothes, not putting them on."

He had never made that kind of remark around me before, and I didn't like it.

"Don't swear in front of the baby," I said sternly.

"Yes, ma'am."

The touch of vexation made me less tentative with the baby, and I managed to finish dressing her. Gathering the curls at the top of her head, I fastened a Velcro bow around them. Tactfully Hardy turned his back while I changed her diapers, which were the size of a cocktail napkin.