About a month before Keilana was born, two babies were mixed up at the hospital and sent home with the wrong families. I was so freaked out about it that even in the drug-induced fog of an emergency C-section, I kept grabbing my brother’s shirt (since he’s the only one who could make it on time) and begging him not to let the baby out of his sight. The doctor tried to ease my mind by telling me that all the other babies in the nursery were boys and if I got one with a, well, you know, I should send it back. That was fine for an identification method while still at the hospital, but what about when we went home and the I.D. bracelets came off? At first, I was neurotically terrified and would look intently at her face for minutes at a time trying to memorize it--all the while nurturing a silent dread that if someone tested me on picking my little one out of a baby crowd, I would fail. I would break out into a cold sweat imagining trying to keep identical twins straight. How do m
oms handle that? It turns out that I was worried for nothing because even in the unlikely event that my eyes didn’t recognize my baby, my heart would have. In Fiona Watt’s That’s Not My Dinosaur, Mouse, while not being Dinosaur’s mother, still knows just what the one he loves does (and doesn’t) look like. It’s a heart thing.http://www.amazon.com/Thats-Dinosaur-Usborne-Touchy-Feely/dp/079450129X
http://www.allbookstores.com/author/Fiona_Watt.html
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