Through the Window

Last night I saw a baby I wanted to kidnap. We were touring the maternity ward at the local hospital. The venetian blinds were down covering all the windows of the nursery, but I peeked though a gap at the corner and found myself looking right into the face of a new baby lying in a bassinet on the other side of the window. She wasn't all red and wrinkled like I thought a newborn would look - she had round cheeks and rosebud lips and big, long-lashed eyes. She looked right back at me, our faces just a few feet apart, and jiggled her arms up and down, as different expressions went across her face. I wanted to pick her up. Actually I wanted her to be mine. I can't decide if I'm fickle because I'm so ready to be disloyal to my own baby and steal this other one - or if it's, again, hormones misfiring, telling me to fall in love with the next newborn I see.