That's not my baby

You arrive to the Indian orphanage, after excruciating months of looking at a stamp sized picture of the son who had already seared his place in your heart, finally coming to receive the baby and take him home. You had memorized every details of his features, including that special little mark on the ear.

But where is the baby?  They take you to the basket holding an infant boy.
 "That's not my baby", you immediately  say.
You know your baby, you have memorized his face, his every characteristic, having studied the stamp sized photo for months.

"Where is my baby?" You move from basket to basket looking for the baby, unable to find him.

Finally, in the back of the room, you find  a smaller than expected, limp infant, near death, too weak to cry.
This is him, you know his face, his characteristic ear mark.
The baby you had waited for all of these months is so profoundly ill and not as expected.

"That baby is not going to survive.  We'll give you another one", the orphanage staff tries to comfort you.
But you don't want another baby.
You only want YOUR baby.
You know who your baby is, and you are not taking another baby.
You are determined to nurse and comfort the infant you had been anticipating for months.
Your baby.