Darrell wanted me to go back to the motel, but I was having none of that. I had my own house and my own bedroom in which to sleep, and your crib was there for you to sleep near me. We were a family. The first night, Darrell pitched a fit until I agreed to have his oldest daughter stay with me, but the next day, I told her to go home. I said I was fine. And I was. I’ve known women who talk about the baby blues, but that wasn’t my experience. Despite what my body had been through, I felt strong. I could deal with all of this myself. The feedings. The waking up. The diaper changings. I knew the exhaustion would hit me eventually, but during those days, I was Rebecca Colder, a little bit stronger, a little bit bolder.

After I sent Darrell’s daughter home, he came back to lecture me. I told him that I loved him, but I was determined to live my life. What I didn’t tell him was that if it came down to protecting my daughter or his, I would choose my own. That was harsh but true. If someone was staying in my house, that was the choice I would have to make sooner or later. So it was better that I stay in the house alone.

We made the most of our time, you and me. Friends and neighbors stocked my fridge and freezer while I was in the hospital, so we had plenty of food. You took to my breasts with ease, much to my relief. You slept better than I had any reason to expect from a newborn, but during those times when we were up together overnight, I would talk to you, just the way I’d been doing for months. I told you my stories. My childhood. My girlhood. My womanhood. The good and the bad. The pain and the loss and the happiness and the mistakes. When you were days old, you already knew things about me that I’d never told another soul.

I read to you. If you were awake, I read to you all the time. Children’s books like Dr. Seuss and Winnie the Pooh and Shel Silverstein. And poetry. Some of it from the Little Golden Book I had as a kid. Some of it just silly poems I made up myself. Where were you when the firefly flew? Were you a firefly too? And classics. I read you classics whether you were awake or asleep. If you find yourself with a strange affinity for Dracula, well, blame that on me.

I sang to you, too. I played my guitar and did my own off-key versions of “Careless Whisper” and “Making Love Out of Nothing at All.” When I did “Radio Ga Ga,” I would poke you in the tummy with every “goo goo” and “ga ga.”

Oh, Shelby.