My husband brought our three young children down the long hall of the maternity¹ ward², pausing to let them wave in each doorway³ at the new mothers cuddling bundles. At my room, he beckoned⁴ them in and introduced them to their new brother.

Five-year-old Katrina gingerly fingered the baby's thick red hair that the nurse had brushed and oiled into a fat top curl. She inspected his little feet, admired his tiny ears, and planted kisses on his dimpled elbow. But her coos stopped short at his wrist.

Drawing back, she pointed⁵ at the identification bracelet⁶ and frowned, "Look, Mommy. They left the price tag on!"