1 Week
Santana was so exhausted she didn't even hear their daughter screaming until Brittany nudged her shoulder. "San," she whispered, "she's hungry again."
"No," Santana mumbled, shoving her head underneath her pillow, "it's your turn."
"I can't, she drank the last of the milk you pumped for her at her last feeding." The pitch in Brittany's voice rose as their daughter's cries became more frantic and, at three in the morning, it sort of made Santana want to punch Brit in the face. She was, after all, the one who wanted the damn baby so bad in the first place. Santana was certain that pregnancy was the most miserable thing in the world when she'd spent months vomiting every morning like clockwork and watched her toned stomach stretch so far that not even her maternity shirts would cover it. Then the contractions that felt like someone was jabbing knives into her back and uterus started and continued for nearly 26 hours and she decided that labor was without a doubt the most miserable thing in the world. But now, a week after pushing seven pounds nine ounces of baby out of a very tiny hole (and tearing so severely that she was still sitting on an icepack) and then having to take care of said baby, Santana had decided that motherhood was even worse than the vomiting, massive belly, and contractions.
"Fine," Santana hissed, using her elbows to push herself up in bed and then thrusting her arms towards Brittany, "give her to me."
"Shhh, Leila," Brittany soothed before placing the baby in Santana's outstretched arms, "mommy's going to feed you."
"Hi, baby." Santana greeted Leila, all traces of harshness gone from her voice. She ran her hand lightly over the baby's dark, downy soft hair as she continued to scream. She then moved to pull her tank top down, wincing as her hand brushed against her swollen and tender breast. "You ready to eat?" She asked, stroking her daughter's cheek with her finger in an attempt to get her to turn her head and latch on. Leila ignored her mother's efforts, instead just crying louder in response to the stimulation.
"Why isn't she eating?" Brittany asked, resting her chin on Santana's shoulder.
"She's too damn pissed to eat," Santana said, bouncing the baby gently in her arms. "Where's her pacifier?"
Brittany shrugged, "don't know, it's too dark to find one. I told you we should have bought some of those glow in the dark ones."
Santana rolled her eyes, "or, you could have just left her pacifier in her bassinet where it's supposed to be." She took her index finger and put it in Leila's mouth in a desperate attempt to get her to stop crying for five seconds.
"I was tired, I forgot. She's keeping me up at night too you know."
Santana couldn't see her face in the dark, but she knew Brittany was pouting like a wounded puppy. "I know," she said softly as Leila began to suck greedily on her finger and the room fell silent.
"It worked." Brittany muttered in amazement.
"Thank God," she murmured, lifting the baby to her breast before she had a chance to get angry that she wasn't getting any milk from her mother's finger. "Ouch," Santana hissed in pain through gritted teeth as Leila latched on. "Still hurts like a fucking bitch."
"I'm sorry," Brittany whispered, reaching up to tuck a strand of Santana's long, dark hair behind her ear.
"Next time," Santana said with a smirk, "you're having the baby."
"But San," Brittany argued, scooting close to her side and brining her arm under Santana's so they were both cradling their daughter as she nursed, "you make such beautiful babies."
Santana snorted a laugh. "Nice try, but you'll make babies that are equally as beautiful as this one. Maybe even more beautiful since I won't have to give birth to them."
2 Weeks
"Come on, sweetie," Brittany pleaded, patting Leila on the back repeatedly. "Burp for mama." The baby arched her back and screamed. "I know you have a burp in there. You took whole four ounces without stopping." The blonde stood up from where she was perched on the edge of the bed and began walking around the room, bouncing her daughter gently as she rubbed small circles on her back. Despite Brittany's best efforts, Leila continued to cry uncomfortably. "Babe…." Brittany said, knocking on the bathroom door. "I can't get her to burp."
"I haven't showered in three days." Santana yelled back. "Figure it out on your own."
"You have to stop waking her up," Brittany whispered to Leila as she thumped her hand against her back. "Your mommy gets very cranky when she doesn't get enough sleep." Leila stopped crying long enough to let out a tiny burp and Brittany cheered in delight. "Good girl!" She cooed, turning her head to kiss her daughter's silky cheek and then patting her back a few more times for good measure. "You all done?" As she asked, the baby burped loudly, gurgled, and then before Brittany knew it both she and Leila were covered in spit-up. "Yuck!" Brittany squealed, startling Leila who promptly began screaming again. "Santana," she banged her palm against the bathroom door, doing her best not to gag as she felt the sensation of warm breast milk trickly down her back. "She threw up on me. We're both covered in puke and I have to be at work in fifteen minutes. I need you to take her."
Santana threw open the bathroom door angrily, wrapped in nothing but a towel and her hair still dripping wet. "For Christ's sake, Brittany, you're so incompetent I can't leave you alone with her for ten minutes." She took Leila from her girlfriend and laid her on the bed, immediately working to strip her of her soiled onesie.
Brittany was busy trying to remove her shirt without letting any of the spit-up touch her when she answered. "I'm not incompetent! It's not my fault she pukes all the freaking time."
"It's not puke," Santana hissed, "it's spit-up. And it's just my milk, it's not like it's nasty or anything."
"It was in her stomach. It came out of her mouth. Call it whatever you want, but it's still puke." Brittany replied, gagging a little on the last word. "Will you get me a clean shirt out of the closet?"
"Little busy taking care of the actual baby here," Santana answered harshly, not looking up to meet Brittany's eyes as she wiped her daughter's face and body off with a baby wipe.
Brittany stared at her incredulously, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Santana shook her head. "Nothing," she growled as she carefully slipped a clean onesie over Leila's head.
"If I'd known giving birth was going to turn you into such a raging bitch, I would have never asked you to have a baby with me." Her voice was firm but tears were welling in her eyes.
Santana was too pissed to care that Brittany was about to start crying. "Yeah?" She asked, picking up Leila and sticking a pacifier in her mouth to quiet her screams. "Well sometimes I wish you hadn't."
Brittany looked at her blankly, blinking a few times to clear the tears from her eyes. "I've got to teach a late class tonight at the dance studio. I won't be home for dinner."
"Whatever," Santana spat, "you better leave or you're going to be late."
"I'll see you later," it came out as more of a question than a statement. She moved to kiss Santana because she didn't believe in leaving the house angry, but Santana quickly turned her head so that Brittany's lips met her cheek instead.
"It's not like I have anywhere to go." She murmured, glaring at the baby in her arms bitterly.
When Brittany returned from the dance studio later that night, she found Santana lying in their bed, absently stroking Leila's back as she dozed on her chest. "Hi," she whispered gingerly.
"Hey," Santana said, a soft smile dancing to her lips. "Come here," she patted the bed beside her and Brittany happily obliged, lying down on her stomach next to Santana and brining her head to rest on her shoulder. "I'm really sorry, Brit. I didn't mean anything I said earlier. I love you and I love our baby." She bent to press a kiss to the tops of both Brittany and Leila's heads. "This motherhood thing is just fucking hard."
Brittany cupped the back of their baby's head with her hand, stroking her dark hair tenderly with her thumb. "I think we're doing okay so far."
"Really?" Santana asked, raising her eyebrow. "The kid's a nervous wreck. She cries all the time."
"She's not crying right now," Brittany pointed out.
"Give her five minutes."
Brittany laughed but Santana didn't think it was funny at all. "We haven't dropped her yet!"
"Great, Brit, we managed to not drop our newborn. Let's add that to our application for parents of the year right now."
"We're just new at this," Brittany offered positively, the difference between their personalities more apparent than ever. "It'll get easier."
"I seriously hope you're right," Santana sighed, "for all our sakes."
4 weeks
She'd been crying, no, she'd been screaming for almost two hours straight. Santana was at the end of her rope. She'd tried changing her, burping her, nursing her, singing to her, and putting her in every single piece of baby apparatus they owned. She'd even tried taking her temperature, which had only served to piss Leila off more.
"Shush," Santana whispered, pushing the pacifier back into Leila's open mouth for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. "You're fine. You don't need anything."
"Any luck?" Brittany asked, coming into their bedroom.
"Shit, Brittany, does it sound like I've had any luck?" She had to shout just to be heard over the baby's cries.
Brittany recoiled, "I just thought maybe she'd stopped and then started again…"
"No, she didn't." Santana hissed.
"Maybe she's hungry."
"Thanks, I hadn't thought of that," Santana yelled, her voice laced with sarcasm.
"Do you want me to take her?" Brittany asked quietly, her lower lip jutting out.
"No, I want to figure out how to comfort my own damn baby." She re-swaddled Leila as best she could and lifted her to her shoulder. "Why don't you like me?" she sobbed into the baby's soft, dark hair.
"San…." She placed her hand on her back, rubbing it in small, comforting circles.
"I'm her fucking mother. I gave birth to her; I'm supposed to be all she ever wants. I'm supposed to be good enough." Santana was hysterical, her cries drowning out even Leila's.
Brittany wrapped her arms around both of them, "She loves you."
"She doesn't," Santana wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I want to give her back."
"You what?" Brittany asked certain she misheard her.
"I can't do this anymore." She thrust the crying infant into Brittany's arms. "Take her back to the hospital and leave her there."
"We can't just give her back," the blonde told her gently.
Santana buried her head in her hands and cried. "If you're not going to take her back, then you have to make her shut up."
Brittany ran her hand lovingly through Santana's hair, "okay," she promised before handing Santana her iPod. "Just listen to some music and try to get some rest. I'll take care of Leila."
Santana lifted her head and gave Brittany a watery smile. "Thank you," she said, all the while wondering when Brittany had suddenly become the strong one in their relationship.
Apparently, she hadn't exactly become the strong one, because she returned to their bedroom thirty minutes later in a mess of tears.
"She just won't stop," she wailed, lying Leila next to Santana in the middle of their bed, her little legs kicking angrily. "What if she's sick?"
"She's not sick," Santana replied, gently scooting the baby over so she was pressed flush against her body. "She's just fussy."
"I'm calling our moms." Brittany threatened, phone in hand.
"No." she insisted, preferring to take her chances on round two with their screaming daughter rather than asking her mother for help.
Brittany put her hands over her ears and climbed into bed on the other side of Leila. "Now I totally understand why the hamster I had in fifth grade ate all of her babies."
Santana nodded in agreement, "Motherhood sucks."
6 weeks
"You know," Santana whispered sleepily as she scooped Leila up out of her crib, "it's really okay if you sleep in until at least seven. I promise you won't miss anything." The baby's big, chocolate brown eyes crossed as she tried to focus on her mother's face in the dim light of the nursery and Santana laughed softly. "Although I do have to admit that yours is not a bad face to wake up to. Your diapers on the other hand…" She gently laid her on the changing table and began unbuttoning her pajamas. "Good morning, little one," she said, stopping to tickle her daughter's belly with her fingers.
"Gaaaa," Leila cooed happily at Santana's touch and then flashed her a drooly grin.
"Oh my god, did you just smile?" she tickled her again and to Santana's amazement, Leila responded by smiling. "Ah!" Santana exclaimed, bending to cover her face with soft kisses. "Brittany," she yelled into the baby monitor, "get in here and see what our daughter just did."
Brittany appeared in the door minutes later, sleepily rubbing her eyes. "I told you, San, if you don't put a clean diaper under her before you take off the wet one she'll pee all over the changing table."
"She didn't pee on the table. She smiled!"
"She smiled?" Brittany asked, draping her arm over Santana's shoulder. "It's probably just gas."
"It's not gas, watch!" Her fingers danced over the soft skin of Leila's chubby belly, prompting her to smile widely and kick her legs excitedly.
"Oh," Brittany giggled, "look at that gorgeous smile."
"Our baby's smiling," Santana whispered, pausing to pull her girlfriend in for a kiss.
"Best feeling in the world, huh?"
Santana nodded and nuzzled her head into Brittany's shoulder. "Motherhood is the best."
A/N: Written for a baby!fic prompt in the glee angst meme. Please leave me a comment and let me know if you liked this. I haven't written for Santana and Brittany much, so I hope it's okay!