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Nurse Marley has chosen to feed Isa in her nursery. She told me my baby takes the bottle best in the rocker, but I can’t help thinking she didn’t want to chat with me anymore. Maybe she felt like I was prying too much into her personal life. It’s weird how I’ve been so open with her, well, mostly, and she’s been so closed off with me.

The wails of my baby have died down on the monitor. All I hear now is Nurse Marley’s soft voice coaxing her to drink her bottle and praising her.

Then she starts singing a slow, heartfelt rendition of that old Ronettes song, “Be My Baby.” I know that oldie is about a girl crushing on a boy she just met, but in my head, I twist the meaning of the lyrics and picture Marley, as she rocks my little baby, proclaiming her eternal love and need for her. Yearning for Isa to be hers.

Her one and only baby. A chill runs through me. A familiar feeling of paranoia. Does Nurse Marley want to take my baby from me? From the moment she arrived here, she’s been so territorial. Proprietary. Then again, I’ve been so insecure. Heck, I even thought she kidnapped my baby when she simply took her for a short walk. I tell myself to stop thinking these ridiculous thoughts. Being maternal comes so naturally to her. She’s a nanny, after all. She’s supposed to adore my baby. Take care of her like she’s her own.

I suck in a deep breath. It aggravates both my incision and pelvis, but calms me down. Marley’s been gone, alone with my baby, for close to a half hour. I’m tempted to go into the nursery and take over, but she still wants to feed Isa by herself to get her acclimated to her. Impulsively, I take the Baby Reborn doll into my arms, wishing it was my Isa instead. At some point, I know I’m going to need to take control.

But for now, in my still debilitated, hormonally charged state, I might as well enjoy the reprieve Nurse Marley’s providing. She won’t be around forever. That’s both a soothing thought, and an unsettling one. I’m not sure if I’m capable of being a good mother. My own certainly wasn’t a role model.

A spasm shoots through my lower back and I realize I’ve been sitting in this low-slung couch for too long. I manage to hoist myself up, and, taking the Baby Reborn doll with me, I retreat to the ugly but more comfortable recliner. As soon as I settle into it, I hear the front door open.

Click-clack. Click-clack.

My chest tightens at the familiar sound. It can only be one person…