Daughter of Magic

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She was slimy, streaked with blood, squalling, and so small I could hold her in my cupped hands. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

The midwife whipped her away from me, washed and dried her tenderly, then laid her, wrapped in a blanket, on Theodora’s breast.

“Thank you,” said Theodora weakly. Her face was pale with exhaustion, but she looked, if possible, even happier than I felt. “You can take a rest now.”

The midwife looked at me distrustingly, as she had for the last two hours, but closed the door behind her as she left. I sat down beside Theodora, brushed the sweaty hair away from her forehead, and kissed it gently. Our baby found the nipple, stopped crying, and began to drink.

“We’ll call her Theodora,” I said, touching the baby’s impossibly small fingers with one of my own.

Theodora smiled but shook her head. “We’ll do no such thing.”

“But I thought that was your mother’s and grandmother’s name before you.”

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