I used to believe that if something was seriously wrong with a baby, the adults caring for her would know.
At least one of them would notice.
At least one would say something.
That was what I believed before the Saturday my sister brought Paige to my house.
I was wrong.
And the worst part was that I didn't realize how wrong until I was standing beside a changing table, looking at something nobody had bothered to explain.
But that came later.
That morning, I thought I was doing my sister a favor.
Nothing more.
Kate was my older sister.
She and her husband had a six-month-old daughter named Paige.
I loved that little girl.
She was still so small that I always paid attention to how I held her.
I kept one hand beneath her back and made sure her head and neck were supported.
Those were ordinary things to do with a baby.
I had no reason to think they would become so important.
Kate and her husband needed someone to watch Paige while they went shopping.
I agreed.
There was no argument about it.
No reason for one.
They needed a little time, and I was available.
I knew babies could be difficult at that age.
They cried when they were hungry.
They cried when they were tired.
Sometimes they cried because their teeth were beginning to come through.
I understood all that.
Or I thought I did.
When Kate arrived that Saturday morning, she looked worn out.
It was noticeable before she even explained anything.
Her face had the tired look of someone who had not slept properly.
She was carrying Paige's diaper bag.
And she had Paige with her.
I looked at my sister first.
Then I looked at the baby.
I remember thinking that Kate probably needed the break more than she wanted to admit.
That was the explanation I gave myself.
Looking back, I wish I had paid more attention to everything else.
But at the time, I saw an exhausted mother.
I didn't see anything that made me question what was happening.
Kate told me Paige had been having a difficult time with her teeth.
Apparently, the baby had been restless through much of the night.
That explained the tiredness.
It explained why Kate seemed eager to get going.
And it gave me a reason to expect Paige might be fussy.
I accepted it immediately.
I didn't ask for a detailed description of the night.
I didn't ask how often Paige had woken up.
I didn't ask whether anything besides teething seemed to be bothering her.
I thought I understood.
Six months old.
Sore gums.
Very little sleep.
It sounded ordinary.
There was nothing about that explanation that struck me as unusual.
Kate handed me the diaper bag.
I took it without thinking.
It was the kind of familiar exchange that happened whenever someone dropped off a baby.
The bag contained what Paige would need during her visit.
At least, that was what I assumed.
I had no reason to treat it as anything more important.
Kate gave me a small, tired smile.
I smiled back.
I wanted her to know Paige would be fine with me.
And I meant it.
I was prepared to feed her.
Change her.
Hold her.
Walk around with her if she got restless.
Whatever she needed.
I didn't mind.
I never had.
Then Kate said something just before she left.
It was a short remark.
So ordinary in the moment that I didn't even think to ask what she meant.
She told me she trusted my judgment if Paige became especially difficult to settle.
I took that as permission to decide what the baby needed.
Maybe another bottle.
Maybe a little more patience.
Maybe medical advice if the fussiness seemed unusual.
I didn't hear anything frightening in those words.
I didn't hear a warning.
I heard a tired mother telling her sister she trusted her.
That was all.
Now, when I think about that morning, I keep returning to that moment.
Not because I know exactly what Kate was thinking.
I don't.
The words themselves didn't tell me.
But they sounded different once I knew what I eventually found.
At the time, I had no reason to examine them.
I was simply glad Kate felt comfortable leaving Paige with me.
Her husband was there for the shopping trip too.
They were leaving together.
I knew that much.
I also knew I would be responsible for Paige until they returned.
That was not a responsibility I took lightly.
A baby that young depended on the person holding her for almost everything.
Food.
Comfort.
A clean diaper.
A safe place to rest.
I understood that.
I believed I could handle an ordinary morning of babysitting.
And that was still exactly what I thought this would be.
An ordinary morning.
Kate and her husband left.
I was alone with Paige.
There was no immediate emergency.
No obvious sign that the next hour would be different from any other time I had watched a baby.
I had been told she was teething.
So I was prepared for crying.
I wasn't prepared for what her crying would sound like.
That difference matters.
It matters more than I can explain.
Because when someone tells you a baby has had a bad night, you start looking for the ordinary reasons she might still be upset.
You expect discomfort.
You expect restlessness.
You expect to spend some time calming her.
You don't immediately think someone might have hidden an injury beneath her clothes.
I certainly didn't.
I trusted the explanation I had been given.
I trusted it because it came from my sister.
And because I had never been given any reason that morning to think Paige was hurt.
Kate hadn't pointed out any injury.
She hadn't warned me to avoid touching Paige's leg.
She hadn't explained that one side of the baby's body might be painful.
She had simply described a difficult night.
Then she left.
That was the entire understanding I had when I began looking after my niece.
I wish I had known more.
I wish the explanation had been clearer.
But wishes don't change what I knew then.
They only make the memory harder to live with afterward.
For a short time, I continued thinking about ordinary things.
How to keep Paige comfortable.
Whether she would take a bottle.
Whether she might settle once she had some quiet.
I had no reason to imagine that the diaper bag I had just accepted would soon be beside me in a hospital.
And I had no reason to believe I would be explaining to a medical professional why there was makeup on my niece's skin.
Makeup.
Even now, that word seems wrong beside the name of a six-month-old baby.
But I didn't know about it yet.
I only knew Paige had been restless.
And that my sister trusted me to look after her.
I was determined to do exactly that.
For about twenty minutes, I remained inside the explanation Kate had given me.
Then Paige began making small, unhappy sounds.
I recognized the beginning of a baby's cry.
I didn't panic.
Not then.
I believed I was dealing with an uncomfortable infant who hadn't slept well.
I believed the solution would be simple.
A bottle.
A little movement.
Someone holding her close.
That was the last part of the morning when I could still believe the problem was ordinary.
Because once Paige started crying, everything I tried seemed to make less sense.
I didn't know it yet.
But I was about to discover that I had been looking for the wrong kind of pain.
Click here to continue reading: PART 2: Twenty Minutes After My Sister Left, Paige Began Crying, and Every Ordinary Way I Tried to Comfort Her Made Me More Worried
My Sister Left Her Six-Month-Old Daughter With Me That Saturday, and One Strange Thing She Said Kept Coming Back to Me
Part 1 of 20
