The sound tore through me in the best possible way.

“She has opinions,” Renata said, laughing through her tears.

The nurse placed Josephine where I could see her face.

She was small and warm, with dark hair plastered to her head and one tiny fist held up as if she had an argument to make.

“Hello, sweetheart,” I whispered.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

In the days that followed, I was exhausted in a new way.

There were feedings and checkups and the nervous business of learning what each cry meant.