Cally watched me rocking the baby. We sat for ten or fifteen minutes, the only sounds being the squeak of the rocker and the beeps of the monitor. The curtain opened, and a nurse came in. “How’s it going in here?” she asked, and her voice sounded extra loud because the room had been so peaceful.

“Good,” we said in unison. I wasn’t sure who the nurse had been asking.

“I’m Mindy,” she said, as she stood in front of the whiteboard on the wall that read, “Today is Friday, December 6, Walk 2X, All foods, Snow.” Mindy erased the other nurse’s name from the board and wrote hers in all caps, and she dotted the I with a smiley face.

“Hi, Mindy, I’m the intended mother, Ruth.”

Mindy nodded as she put the pulse machine on Cally’s finger. She squeezed the IV bag and looked at the monitor, then marked something on her clipboard. “How are you feeling?” she asked in her loud voice.

“Tired,” said Cally.

I rubbed the baby’s tiny little back and wondered if she’d burp.

“How about the stitches?” said the nurse. “Any pain in that area? We’ll check for bleeding in a sec.”

“I think it’s fine,” said Cally. She’d had a few tears during birth.

“That’s what we like to hear,” Mindy said as she wrapped Cally’s arm with the Velcro cuff and pumped the bulb till the cuff squeezed tightly. “One twenty-five over eighty-six,” she said, releasing the remaining air.

“Is that good?” Cally asked.

“Mm-hmm,” said the nurse, coiling up the tubes and placing them back in a cubby. “We’re checking for signs of postpartum preeclampsia, okay? Shall we go to the toilet?”

Cally nodded, and Mindy helped her rise from the bed and waddle into the adjoining bathroom. The baby started fussing and grunting, as if she, too, were annoyed with the nurse. “Uh-oh,” I said, repositioning the baby. She fussed more, so I stood up with her and bounced. “There, there . . .” When Cally emerged from the bathroom, the fussing turned to crying. “What should I do?” I said, still bouncing.

Cally walked over to us and stroked the baby’s head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Change her diaper?” The baby complained, as if frustrated with our incompetence.

“Want to try latching on?” the nurse asked Cally as she helped her back into the bed and straightened her sheets.

“Umm,” said Cally, “if you think I should?”

“Yeah, if you’re up to it, it’s a good idea to try,” said the nurse, not fazed by the crying. “If we can get some sucking motion, that tells the body it’s time to start the next phase, start moving on.”

“But she wasn’t planning to breastfeed,” I said, holding the baby out in front of me as if she, too, might weigh in on this question.