I promise you, he won’t break.’ The specialist nurse was smiling as she came to stand beside Phoebe. ‘But he’s so tiny and vulnerable. I just can’t get used to the idea that he’s dependent on us for his every need. It’s such an awesome responsibility.’ Phoebe was struggling to keep her emotions in check as she looked down at the infant in the cot. A whole range of feelings washed over her, threatening to engulf her. This baby was so fragile, so delicate in every way, with fingers no bigger than matchsticks, curled possessively around the ends of her thumbs, and little legs that were bunched up to his abdomen as though he was still enjoying the safety of the womb. ‘I think you’ll find that they’re a lot tougher than we give them credit for. Most babies are born with the instinct to survive. That’s why they cry and gasp and struggle to make their needs known.’ ‘You’re probably right, but I’m glad you’re here to help me through this, at any rate,’ Phoebe said, glancing towards the nurse.
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