The hospital room where I labored the first time felt cavernous.

I suppose having a gigantic, empty hospital room to yourself is better than the alternative, a shared and cramped closet of a space. But every instinct in my body railed against giving birth in that room.

It was so bright. So open. So cold.

I suppose it also made what came next feel that much softer.

The dimmed lights. The pillows propped all around me. My husband’s kiss. The wispy baby fuzz covering a brand-new human curled up against my chest. Knowing that the world had shifted, closed in, and expanded all at once.

That was true softness.

This is my answer to this week’s writing prompt.