This is Amanda- our youngest.
When Amma was born, she flew through the birth canal at such breakneck speed that she was a little…rough upon arrival. Actually, she was dark purple and quite swollen from head to toe. All the nurses looked down at her and cooed and pretended to notice that she looked like me, or Craig…but it was painfully obvious that the only human she came close to resembling yet was Rocky Balboa.
Besides the little appearance glitch, I assumed that all was well until Amma returned from her first bath with a sign on her bassinet that said, in huge block letters:
“I HAVE A BRUISED FACE.”
When I asked the nurse why mine was the only baby with her shortcomings advertised, she told me that since Amma was so purple, they were afraid that a nurse might panic and start to perform CPR on her. I was distraught. Every time I looked at that sign I felt like Amma was being forced to wear a baby dunce cap. I imagined all the other babies pointing at her and giggling in the nursery, scootching their bassinets away from hers so as not to be associated with the “bruised-face chick.” Stupid Snotty Jerk Babies. When the nurse suggested that I might be over-reacting, I asked her why Amma would be crying so much if not for the fact that she was terribly embarrassed.
Clearly, the Percocet hadn’t kicked in yet.
But Craig was smart enough not to suggest more drugs when I talked to him about it. He had a more creative approach to the problem. The next morning when I woke up, I noticed that another sign had been added to Amma’s bassinet. Now above her teeny purple face it said:
“I HAVE A BRUISED FACE”
“BUT YOU SHOULD SEE THE OTHER BABY.”
And since Amma was named after the most relentless and graceful fighter we’ve ever known- this was a fitting start to her little life. More on her namesake later..when I can find the words.