One mistake had led to another.
The bands had not corrected the error.
They had reinforced it.
Before we left, the hospital administrators gave us written confirmation that the procedure had changed. Now, newborn identification bracelets would require independent verification by the parents and confirmation by a second staff member.
He couldn’t undo what had happened.
But at least the mistake wouldn’t disappear after a simple apology.
Before being discharged, Marissa visited us.
For several seconds, neither of them knew what to say.
Then he laughed wearily.
“I will never again make fun of my mother’s knitting.”
I laughed too
“And I will never make fun of Caleb for noticing strange birthmarks.”
“Excuse me,” Caleb said. “I have a great capacity for observation.”
We took a picture together before we left.
Two babies
Two exhausted mothers
Two parents trying to smile.
It’s been almost a year.
We don’t see Marissa and her husband often, but we keep in touch.
Yesterday she sent me a photograph of her daughter reaching out excitedly to grab the birthday cake.
The reddish stain was still visible above her dress.
Below, Marissa had written:
“I still have it.”
I laughed more than I expected.
Then I sent him a picture of our daughter sitting on Caleb’s lap, trying to eat the wrapping paper.
His shirt had shifted enough to reveal that small dark oval next to his left collarbone.
“She still has it too,” I wrote.
Marissa responded with a heart.
Caleb looked over my shoulder.
Birthmark Club?
“Apparently.”
I don’t waste much time thinking about what would have happened if Caleb hadn’t watched so closely that night.
I don’t need to do it.
Our daughter is upstairs sleeping in the crib he assembled before any of us dared to believe we would actually need it.
She is ours
And a small brand made sure we knew it.
