Page 187 of Unspoken Words
“What? Why?”
“I’llput up the tree, you can tell me how to decorate it.”
“Fine. You can put it up,I’lldecorate it.”
“You canhelpme decorate it, Eloise.”
“Don’t you Eloise me.”
Christina’s hungry cry interrupted our battle, but I didn’t mind; I was about to win it anyway.
“What’s wrong, my baby girl? Don’t tell me you’re hungry again.” I made my way to her crib and picked her up, hugging her to my chest and breathing her in.
Her smell, that newborn baby smell; it was the most precious scent on earth—sweet, soft, milky, and clean. “I could gobble you all up, pretty princess.”
My little hungry hippo was now full term and growing fast thanks to my plentiful milk supply. She loved it, as did I, for breastfeeding her was my most favourite thing in the entire world. It wasourtime, just mummy and daughter. Skin to skin. The moment we bonded over what she needed and what only I could give her. The way she suckled peacefully while grasping my finger, and how she snuggled into my arms and watched me as she swallowed. I never wanted it to end, but I knew it would, and sooner rather than later. So I cherished it. Every second.
The option to breastfeed her had never been negotiable, which was why I’d refused my heart medication. None of them could reverse or fix my problem. They could ‘potentially’ delay another attack, but that wasn’t reason enough for me to choose them over bonding with my daughter and giving her the very best start in life.
Smiling, I sat down in the nursing chair and unlatched the strap of my bra. “Come on then, Milk Monster. Let’s get you sorted before we leave.”
Connor packed the rest of our things, and when Christina was milk-drunk, clean, and sleeping peacefully in my arms, we left my room for the final time. My nurses and doctors all formed a guard of honour as we walked along the corridor and said our goodbyes. Nurse Tracy was crying, and Dr Goodman blinked back tears. But it was Dr Webb’s stony face that moved me the most.
Turning to Connor, I passed Christina to him. “Can you hold her for a minute?”
“Sure. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just have to do something.”
I stepped up to Dr Webb and wrapped my arms around him. “Thank you,” I whispered into his ear. “You’ve done all you can, and it’s enough. More than enough. I just want you to know that.”
His arms slowly found my back, and he gave me a light hug in return. “I wish I could do more.”
“Well, you can’t,” I said, pulling back. “You’re not a superhero or a wizard.” I winked at him. “But close enough.”
“Merry Christmas, Ellie. And remember, take it easy.”
“Merry Christmas, Dr Webb. And I will. I promise.”
Connor moved to my side and placed Christina back in my arms before shaking Dr Webb’s hand.
She didn’t stir, didn’t wake, she didn’t even bat an eyelash.
“She sleeps like you,” Connor said, touching her button nose.
I smiled. “I know.”
“Ready to go home?”
“You better believe it.”
*
During the weeksleading upto Christmas, Christina settled into her new environment like the perfect little angel that she was. She ate, slept, burped, pooped, pee’d. Repeat. Connor and I savoured every feed, every nappy change, and every cuddle. Even Max loved the days he stayed with us, offering to help bathe his baby sister the second he walked through the front door. It was tiring but wonderful and, sadly, the physical toll on my body meant that my milk production had drastically slowed down, as had my mobility. No more light strolls with the pram. No more checking the letterbox. No more trips to the supermarket.
“Can I please help with something?” I asked Mum as she pulled the roast turkey out of the oven. It was Christmas day and we were preparing for our traditional family lunch, one I hadn’t experienced in years.
“No, you cannot. You just sit there and keep my granddaughter happy.”
