Page 124 of More Than Words

“The hospital said they can send us home with plenty of preemie formula and a note for TSA. They’ll still have to inspect it, but it should be enough to get us home. Ma went and picked some up and dropped it off at my apartment. We’ve got preemie diapers and plenty of wipes in my carry-on. I know she hasn’t really taken to the pacifier, but we picked up several to try out if she needs one on the plane.”

After he finished getting dressed, he knelt in front of me on the carpet, placing his hands on my knees. “We got this, babe. Tonight, she’ll be home.”

Nodding, I sniffled, trying not to cry again. Adrian helped me get dressed, kissing me on the forehead when he stood after tying my shoes. I hated he had to help me get through things I never blinked an eye at before.

“Sloane wants me in the office on Monday to talk about a few things, and to get my paternity leave paperwork filled out. But I can work remotely for at least two weeks before I need to start going in a couple of days a week.”

I knew there was an application for temporary leave sitting in my inbox. But I couldn’t make myself open it, much less fill it out.

We’d originally planned for me to take twelve weeks of maternity leave, and five of those were already gone. I missed work. The traveling part, not so much, but I missed my authors. I missed feeling like I was doing something meaningful helping get people’s stories out in the world.

I wasn’t even sure how I was going to get through the next 48 hours, much less seven more weeks of feeling like I had no control over any part of my life.

“You ready to go? Hutch was going to get breakfast, so we didn’t have to eat those rubbery eggs in the continental breakfast downstairs. He found a bakery that had chocolate almond croissants on the other side of the hospital. He texted that he’ll meet us there. I already put his bag in the rental car.”

I wasn’t sure what I’d do without them being here to keep me from completely breaking down. And I hated Adrian was so worried about me. Just another thing to feel guilty about.

Going through the motions, I checked the room for any stray belongings, zipping up my suitcase after I’d stuffed everything inside.

“I need to pump,” I whispered, pulling the portable pump from my carry-on bag and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Adrian disappeared with the bags as I got everything set up. The familiar tingle of my milk letting down made my stomach turn.

I felt like the baby books had lied to me as I mechanically went through the motions, tucking the cups into my nursing tank and pressing the button to turn it on. They made breastfeeding seem like this magical experience, but I just felt like a cow with raw and battered nipples. Finley had done a number on them, biting down when she couldn’t get a good latch, so I’d resorted to pumping most of the time. Motherhood was out to get me. I couldn’t even rely on my own body to feed my child.

Adrian returned, and I turned away, hating that even this made me want to cry. He hesitantly sat behind me on the bed, his thighs bracketing mine as he pulled me back to lean against his chest.

“You don’t have to be in here while I do this. I know it’s weird.”

His nose skimmed the side of my neck, goosebumps following in his wake, and I winced as I felt myself let down again. “You’re doing something that feeds our child. A breast pump is not going to scare me away.”

His hand settled on my stomach, his thumb slowly caressing me through my thin tank top while he waited for me to finish. I felt like he’d never see me as the woman I once was after this. My body wasn’t even close to being the same as before I got pregnant, and now I was just a milk dispenser. A faulty one at that.

He didn’t even hesitate once I turned off the pump and disconnected the collection cups, standing to retrieve the storage bottles from the small cooler bag I carried around when we weren’t at the hospital. After watching me transfer the contents, he grabbed the washable parts and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing a few moments later with everything cleaned and tucked back into the carrying case.

“A few more hours,” he murmured after pulling me into his arms, kissing my cheek before he helped me pack up the remaining things in the room.

While I was terrified to take her home, I was ready to leave this part of our journey behind.

Eight very long hours later, I was flanked by both men, walking toward the gate where we’d board the plane home. Finley had been sleeping for the last twenty minutes since we’d tucked her back into the car seat after going through security, and as long as we kept the stroller moving, she seemed content.

It was insane how much we needed for a three-hour flight to Boston. We’d checked our suitcases, but we had a diaper bag, both men had backpacks and we had a small cooler full of breastmilk and formula that’d been treated like a bomb by TSA.

When the agent had told us we needed to dump out the unsealed bottles I’d pumped, Adrian had scared the shit out of the poor guy quoting TSA breastmilk guidelines to him. After a few tense moments, he’d let us pass, apologizing for the misunderstanding. The thought of pouring out what’d taken me hours to produce would have devastated me.

“Do you want me to sit with her on the plane?” Adrian offered as we sat down near the gate.

“She seems to be doing okay, I’ll stay with her. You two will be right behind me. I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s only a few hours.”

Only it wasn’t fine. Ninety minutes into the flight, Finley had been startled awake from the seat beside me and shrieked louder than I’d been aware a six-week-old baby could. Her ear-piercing wail had garnered the attention of everyone in the seats surrounding us, and I scrambled to free her from the straps of the car seat.

“It’s okay, sweet girl. I know you’re probably getting hungry.”

She momentarily calmed, closing her eyes and resting her head on my chest as little puffs of air escaped her pursed lips. I stared at her, watching her eyelids flutter as a tiny fist held onto a lock of my hair. It still hardly felt real that she was mine. That I’d made her.

A few moments later, the plane dipped, hitting a pocket of turbulence, and her face scrunched, her fist tightening before she started crying again. Knowing she was probably hungry, I pulled out my nursing wrap and carefully pulled down my tank top to let her nurse. I’d already leaked onto the fabric, which seemed to be a constant problem because I let down every time she cried. Which was a lot.

Her tiny lips clasped the offered nipple, but she refused to latch, squirming and biting me until I gasped.

Adrian’s hand appeared between the seats, holding one of the tiny formula bottles. Carefully tucking myself away, I turned her to cradle in my arms. I tried offering her the bottle, watching as she took two sucks and then gurgled as her distress became more evident.

---