SEVEN

Mia

“What do you mean, you delivered a baby?”

I smile as I listen to Steffie’s incredulous voice.

It’s been a few days, and other than a big gift basket with treats for me and the dog—which made me smile—that was delivered yesterday with a thank you card, I hadn’t seen much of my neighbours. The card was signed Jared, Jordy, and Ole, which I thought was really cute. They must have Scandinavian heritage, although I always thought of tall and blond, not tall and dark. At least Jared is tall.

Ole’s delivery had an impact on me. One I hadn’t quite been prepared for. It was a vivid reminder of how much I’d always loved my profession. A profession I didn’t realize I was missing so much. It’s such a powerful experience, not just the birth of a child, but the birthing process itself. And stealing an occasional snuggle with a newborn baby is the cherry on top.

I never got to snuggle with Jordy’s little one and I was craving it.

I’d been watching. I’d seen Jared’s car leave early the morning after and saw them come home in the early afternoon. Part of me wanted to go over and check up on Jordy and her little one, but instead I stayed hidden inside and buried myself in my new design project.

I hadn’t seen them at all yesterday, but this morning, while I was having my coffee on the porch, I watched Jared saunter outside in swimming shorts. I was mesmerized when he dropped his towel and stretched, before diving into the frigid lake. I found myself following his progress as he swam with his strong arms slicing the water. Realizing I was once again bordering on voyeurism, I resolutely got up and went inside.

When I couldn’t concentrate on work because my mind kept wandering to the other side of the bay, I decided to call Steffie.

“My neighbour? The cute brunette? They were out on the water when she went into labour. I just happened by in my canoe.” I chuckle and I tell her how Jared had been so flustered, he’d forgotten how to start the engine when I found them.

“You miss it,” Steffie says when I finish my story, skipping over the panic attack that followed. It’s more a statement than an inquiry, and yet I feel compelled to answer.

“More than I thought,” I whisper, afraid to voice it out loud. “I miss the magic. I miss my sense of purpose; letting the moms feed off my calm and confidence, allowing them to start trusting the process. I miss the feeling of being there for someone when they need me. Being needed. And God, Steffie, I so miss my babies. He was so beautiful. Thirty-eight weeks and already so strong, so eager to make his presence known,” I ramble as emotions take over.

“Honey...” she commiserates, but I’m not done.

“I walked away from that, Steffie. My heart was in it and I walked away from it. It tore me apart when I couldn’t do it anymore. Now that I’ve tasted it again, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Mia...” she tries again. “You took yourself out of the game when you realized your emotional struggles were affecting your job. To me that’s telling of the person you are. You don’t want to give less than your all, and that’s commendable. I always expected you to come back, honey. Not once did I think you wouldn’t one day be back delivering babies.”

“It’s been years!” I exclaim. “A decade. And I’m not better. I had another attack at the hospital. Was in such a state, I didn’t know where I was going.”

“I’m not saying for you to jump into anything,” Steffie soothes. “All I’m suggesting is that perhaps you should stop thinking your life is over, and start considering there’s plenty left to live. It’s not so bad to want something badly that is just out of reach. It just makes you work harder to get there.”

We don’t talk long after that. Steffie gets a call and needs to head out, and I’m left feeling adrift, with just the smallest niggle of hope in my heart.

Her words follow me around the entire rest of the day.

-

I’m out in my vegetable patch, pulling off a cucumber to go with the fresh strawberries and lettuce I already picked. A few spring onions, some chicken, pine nuts and that raspberry balsamic vinaigrette, and I have a meal. I love summer. Love how, when you pick your crops carefully, you can eat homegrown the entire season. Saves money, too. Sure it takes a little time, but there is nothing more gratifying than just walking outside and picking what you need. I happen to think gardening is soothing, although it wasn’t always that way. I never really even considered going through the trouble of growing anything myself, when it took much less time and effort to hit the produce section at the grocery store. But I’ve changed. A lot, and not all in ways I like, but this change I like. Getting in touch with my ‘earthier’ self has been a good experience, and I enjoy discovering new things I’m good at. Even if it’s just growing veggies.

I’m lost in thought when I round the side of the cottage, almost bumping into Jared’s bulk, bent over giving the dog a pat.

“Careful,” he rumbles in a low voice when he straightens up, grabbing my upper arms to steady me.

“Hey,” I manage, once I catch my breath. I look down accusingly at Griffin, who never bothered alerting me or barking. He’s usually very protective of me. I didn’t even notice him leaving me in the vegetable patch. Traitor. “Everything alright?” A glance at his face makes it clear someone hasn’t been sleeping a lot. I bite down a grin.

“Actually—no,” he says, running his hand through his longish hair. I’m immediately alert.

“Jordy okay? The baby?” My eyes slide over his shoulder to his house across the water.

“He won’t nurse. She can’t get him to latch on and she’s been crying half the day. Don’t know what the fuck to do anymore. I called the hospital and they gave me a number of some kind of breastfeeding place? Stupid sounding name...Leche something?”

“La Leche League?” I offer.

“Yes. Anyway, I tried calling, got the answering machine and decided to ask you instead.” He looks a little, no, correct that, a lot uncomfortable.

“Sure,” I say, looking at the vegetables in my basket. “Let me just put these...wait, have you had dinner yet?” I ask him, and he shakes his head in response.

“No. Haven’t even had a chance to think about it,” he confesses apologetically.

“Hold this,” I say, shoving the basket in his hands before running inside to grab the chicken I roasted this afternoon. It was meant to last me a couple of days, but now I’m glad I did the whole chicken. It should be enough to feed all of us.

“Thanks,” Jared says when I fall into step beside him on the trail around the bay. He’s still carrying the basket of vegetables, after refusing to hand it back when I came outside with the chicken. I’m not sure if it’s the sight of the burly man with a basket hooked over his arm, or the promise of a delicious armful of newborn baby to snuggle with, that has me smiling all the way to his front door.

Jared

I can’t deal with tears. Not when everywhere I turn, someone’s crying. Fuck, by the time the sun starts setting, I’m ready to start crying my damn self.

The moment I spot Mia coming down her steps and rounding the side of her house, I turn to Jordy, who’s sniffling on the couch, trying to rock Ole in submission. He’s not having it. Right. That’s enough of that. By the time I get to her cottage, her dog is waiting; his tail wagging and his tongue lolling out of his mouth. For a moment, I forget why I’m here when she comes around the corner at a stiff clip, almost bowling me over. Okay, not quite, given I’m about twice her size, but I wobble. A little. I tell her to be careful, but have to steady myself holding on to her and end up steadying her instead. The smell of strawberries warmed in the sun wafts up from the basket she has clutched in her hands, and the sight of her clear green eyes, in a much healthier-looking face than last time I saw her, has my breath catch. She’s quite pretty, with that halo of short, unruly curls framing her flushed cheeks.

It takes me a minute to respond when she asks why I’m there, but before long, I have her walking back to my place beside me. From the occasional glances I direct her way, she’s not at all unhappy about it. I can’t quite figure her out.

“Hey, honey,” she says softly when we walk inside to find Jordy, still with tears coursing down her face. They only increase at Mia’s gentle inquiry and before I can blink, she’s sitting beside my sister, wrapping her and the baby in her embrace. I grab the chicken she abandoned on the coffee table and carry the lot to the kitchen, wishing for the first time I didn’t have an open concept house. What I wouldn’t give to be able to close a door and maybe watch some TV or something. Instead I mindlessly wash and rinse Mia’s harvest as I listen to the soft murmur of her voice from the living room.

“Could you put on the kettle for tea?”

I turn around to find Jordy apologetically eyeing me from her perch on the couch. Alone.

“Where’s Mia?”

“Changing Ole’s diaper.”

That puts a smile on my face. I’ve had that unpleasant task the past couple of days and let me tell you, my gag reflex is alive and well.

“You’re so transparent,” she accuses me with a smirk. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your distaste for my son’s excretions.” I shrug. No use in denying the obvious. I love the way his little warm body smells snuggling under my chin, but when he produces, the stench is overwhelming. My sister swears it’ll get worse when he starts eating solids, and I sure as shit hope that won’t be for a good long time. Or at least until Jordy’s able to do her own baby’s damn diaper changes.

She looks a little better. Still flushed and her face a little swollen from crying, but her eyes don’t look lost.

“You okay, Pipsqueak?” I ask, as I put the kettle on the stove and pull down a couple of mugs and her teabags.

“Better,” she says. “Mia’s going to help me feed. She says the baby looks a little jaundiced.”

“Do we need to take him to the clinic?” I’m instantly on alert.

“No need,” Mia says, as she comes walking into the living room, carrying my nephew face down on her crooked forearm like a football, his little legs dangling on either side and his face resting on her upturned palm. Totally relaxed. I’m taking mental notes for next time he decides to bring down the house with his little temper. “I was just telling your sister it’s not unusual for babies to turn a little yellow. Her milk is just coming in and it’s not quite as rich as the colostrum, so he’ll need a little more to get the same satisfaction. It’s just a transitional phase.”

I have my hands up when she starts talking about milk and whatever the hell that other thing is.

“Whatever,” I mutter dismissively, drawing a chuckle from my sister. “Want some tea?” I ask Mia, promptly changing the subject to the women’s amusement. Mia just nods and I’m struck at her ease around Jordy and Ole. No sign of the pale anguish I’ve seen on her face more than once. Instead, she looks almost serene as she expertly positions Jordy before placing Ole in her arms. I quickly turn when my sister flips down one side of her ugly ass nursing bra, exposing her breast so Ole can latch on. It’s getting easier, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make feel a little weird. Not that I can’t see the beauty of it, a mother nursing, I just need to get over the fact it’s my sister.

Jesus. If my teammates could see me now, I wouldn’t hear the end of it. Changing diapers, burping, washing spit rags and onesies—making fucking hot beverages. Yeah, they’d get a good chuckle out of it.

By the time the tea is ready, Ole is nursing contently and both girls are watching him with tender expressions. I need to see if there’s a good action movie on TV tonight. I have a sudden craving for something rich in testosterone.

The baby is peacefully sleeping on the couch, surrounded by pillows to hold him in place, and I’ve put his little cot by the window, as per Mia’s instructions. Apparently the kid needs sunlight and frequent feedings. Makes sense to me; that’s enough to get me through my days as well. Maybe babies aren’t as complicated as I thought. He certainly doesn’t look complicated, he looks relaxed as his little tongue pokes out and his mouth still makes those little sucking motions. I lean my head back and absentmindedly scratch Griffin’s head.

I let the dog in to feed him the leftovers of our impromptu dinner, while Mia is helping Jordy take a shower. Griffin had scarfed down the chicken and some leftover rice, before he sauntered over, sniffed the baby and plopped down in front of the couch. He lifted his head when I sat down, before dropping it down on his front paws and closing his eyes.

This is nice.

I must’ve dozed off, when I feel my hand, which I’d put protectively on Ole’s stomach to prevent him from falling off, lifted and placed on my leg. My eyes shoot open to find Mia carefully lifting the baby up, trying not to wake him—or me apparently.

“I’m just going to put him in his crib and head home,” she whispers when she sees I’m awake. “Jordy’s resting and you should grab a nap as well.” She disappears toward Jordy’s bedroom, where we’ve temporarily set up Ole’s crib.

I rub my hand over my face to clear the sleep from my eyes and push myself upright.

“I’ll walk you back,” I tell her when she returns.

“No need,” she says with a sharp shake of her head. “I’ll be fine, and besides, the baby could wake up any time. I suggest he feeds on demand for now. I’ll pop back over tomorrow morning to check on Jordy. I’m more concerned about her, she running a low grade fever. Might be an infection, so she needs to drink lots. Every time she nurses, she should do so with a glass of water beside her.”

Once again I’m taking mental notes of everything she says, realizing how terribly unprepared and uneducated I am on the subject. Talk about a steep learning curve.

“I’ll just sleep here on the couch where I can hear them,” I suggest, following her and the dog to the door, where I reach past her to open it, and flick on all the outside lights at the same time. “And I’ll watch from here until you get inside.”

She slips past me out the door, with her head turned away, but I don’t miss the roll of her eyes. I silently watch as she makes her way down the trail, occasionally disappearing behind a tree or some brush, with Griffin following faithfully behind her. When she emerges on the other side, walks up her steps, and raises a hand in my direction before disappearing inside, I finally close the door and turn off the outside lights.

I fall asleep the moment I lie back down on the couch, only to be woken up what feels like mere minutes later, to the sound of my nephew’s lusty cries.

I guess this diaper is mine. Shit.