Page 5 of Grand Love

One Year Later

“Da Da Da.”

Small hands grip my cheek, pinching tight until my eyes snap open. A grin spreads wide across my baby boy’s chubby cheeks and he begins bouncing his bottom on the mattress excitedly. I smile wide along with him.

My beautiful boy sleeps in his cot most nights—I try to keep a routine. But sometimes, just before the day gives way to the dawn and sleep hasn’t come, I find myself reaching for him.

“Mummy isn’t ready to get up yet, baby.”

“Da Da Da Da.”

“Mum Mum Mum Mum. Learn it already.” I smile, laying him alongside me, letting him nestle into my chest.

“There’s nothing left, my precious boy.”

He couldn’t take to breastfeeding as a newborn, which made the first month hell on earth. Some days, he would scream the house down until we’d get the right position, and it was never the same from one feed to the next. It made me feel like a failure. Like I wasn’t doing it right. We’re now seven months in and my milk has all but dried up.

My hand smooths through his dark brown hair, and he lifts his still sleepy eyes to me, peeping through his long lashes. “Good morning, baby.” I plant a soft kiss on his head and close my eyes, enjoying the peace and contentment he brings me.

“Mummy has work today,” I whisper softly into his hair. “You get to spend the day with Daddy.” My lip tips up as my words settle around us. I’m happy that he will get to see Mason today. If there is anything my boy loves more than me, it’s his dad.

And maybe my boobs.

Co-parenting with a person you hold so much resentment for should probably be difficult, but it’s been easier than I expected. At first it was hard. The sleepless nights and my hormones being up and down from one day to the next made things tough, and no one tells you about the days that follow after having a baby or the initial haze that is so easily forgotten. I think it was day three when it hit, the tears I’d hide from everyone because if they asked, I wouldn’t have a reason for them. I had no idea what was wrong but I felt completely lost. I thought I was crazy. I thought I was a bad mum for feeling the way I did.

The support from our families is what makes everything possible. I know that, and I’m forever indebted to them for the time they give up for us. I know they wouldn’t have it any other way, though. The little monkey has them all wrapped around his finger.

His breathing evens out into soft puffs against my chest and I know he’s dropped off to sleep. It’s our thing. Every morning he wakes and snuggles into me, and every morning he drifts straight back off to sleep not five minutes later. You wouldn’t think he had just slept for ten hours straight.

Sliding my arm out from under him, I stand and stretch, watching as he lies on the comforter, completely sated. He’s the most precious thing on earth to me. I still can’t believe I made him.

Reluctantly, I lift him from the bed, careful not to wake him as I place him in his cot. I need a quick shower before I leave for work.

I haven’t danced since I fell pregnant, and I’m unsure why because I miss it terribly. It’s who I always was, but it’s not who I am right now. Dancing was all I had growing up and then I had my beautiful baby boy, and he became the centre of my world. Maybe one day I will go back to it, but right now it doesn’t feel like something I can dedicate my time to wholeheartedly.

Dance is so much more than just dancing, it’s an expression of the soul and sometimes that can be draining.

Lucy is in the kitchen when I finish in the shower. She comes over most days to help me where she can. Especially on the two days I work. Getting a baby up, bathed, dressed, and fed all before seven thirty isn’t an impossible task, but another pair of hands always helps.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she sings, her hands deep in the sink as she washes the baby bottle from last night.

We had to alternate between the bottle and breast a lot because of our situation, and although it bothered me that I couldn’t feed exclusively and that now I can’t get a supply at all, I know this is the only way.

“You’re extra chirpy this morning.” I scrunch my nose at her as I move to the island, taking the steaming mug of coffee she has laid out for me. She is dressed in a black skirt and white blouse. She looks sexy. She looks sexed. “Ugh, you got laid.”

“Uh-huh.” She points the baby bottle brush at me, soap suds dripping to the floor. “You should try it sometime.”

“I don’t think anyone will want this train wreck. I have extra… bits now.”

“You make that sound truly awful.”

“You know what I mean.”

She smiles over her shoulder at me. “My boy must be sleeping?”

Friends who love your children as much as you do, unconditionally, not because they should or want to, just because they do—that’s special.

“Yep, out like a light… Ted or Miller?” I ask, smirking behind my coffee cup.

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