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She untied the dainty ribbon bow and pulled the tissue paper out. She reached in the bag and pulled out a cream-colored stack of onesies. She unfolded one and held it up in front of me.
“It’s so tiny,” I said, running my fingers over the soft fabric.
I could feel my heart swell. They were perfect. If baby were a girl or a boy.
“These are newborn size,” she said, looking through the tags. She reached in the bag again and pulled out another stack of the same onesies, followed by another stack.
“Oh, he got you 0-3 month too! And 3-6 month!”
I started removing the tags and stickers, and stacking them against the wall as Monica started opening another bag.
“Awwww,” she said, holding up a little pair of white and cream striped pants.
It felt like such a bittersweet moment, folding these tiny clothes and feeling the soft material,oohing andahhing over the different colors and prints. I felt excited and scared and sad and happy. I was a mess of emotions. Most of all, I just wished Daniel was there with me. Of course, I was happy to have Monica here. She had done so much more and been there for me. But Daniel, the father of my baby, was hard to replace, especially now.
“I think that’s it for all the clothes,” said Monica, folding up another gift bag.
I looked at the stack of clothes lined up against the wall and shook my head in awe.
“You’re set for an entire year,” she said, following my gaze.
I placed my hand on my bump and rubbed it gently.
“You are going to be one well-dressed baby,” I said softly as I bent over and talked to the baby.
“Very posh,” laughed Monica. “These onesies cost more than the shirt I’m wearing.”
“That pile of clothes is probably three months’ rent,” I said, shaking my head.
“Ready for the next one?” she asked.
I nodded and she got up and walked over to the biggest box. She grunted as she started to slide it over.
“Do you need help?” I asked, attempting to get up.
“Sit the hell down. Did you not hear what the doctor said?” she said shrilly.
I laughed and settled back on the floor.
She grabbed a pair of scissors and started working at the tape on the box. Finally, she popped open one side and peered inside. She reached in and pulled out a pamphlet.
“Looks like you have a crib,” she said.
“Really?” I asked excitedly.
She handed me the pamphlet that included the instructions. On the front was a picture of a beautiful gold railed crib. I sucked in a breath when I saw it. It was so beautiful.
“Wow,” I said, mostly to myself.
“It’s really pretty, Heart,” said Monica.
“He did a good job.”
“Why don’t you start unboxing the smaller boxes, and I’ll start putting the crib together,” offered Monica.
I gave her a skeptical look. Monica wasn’t exactly the handiest person. Neither was I. But I at least knew the difference between a Phillips and a flathead.
“What?” she asked with a shrug. “How hard can it be?”