Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta'd by HollettLA

Summary: Young mother Kylie just gave birth to her second child, who just can't stop crying. Dumbfounded and clueless, she tries to no avail to stop his tears while also trying to care for her four-year-old son and her husband, who just doesn't understand…How will she cope?

*Kylie's story comes in four parts/chapters*


"Clueless"

Chapter One

Kylie POV

Letting out an elongated sigh, I rocked my son, hoping and praying he'd stop crying. At nine days old, all he does is cry and carry on, and I haven't slept in what feels like…a decade.

Clueless as to what the problem was, I soothed him—I crooned, swayed, rocked him faster and then slower, and then not at all for a while—all to no avail.

"Please," I pleaded, and now I was crying.

Monday can't come fast enough. I know infants cry, but this is getting to be too much. I made an appointment for Little Aro yesterday—to see the pediatrician. It's Saturday, and Monday's still two days away. I'm counting the hours down. I should have laid it on thicker, pleaded with the receptionist more. Maybe the doctor would have seen us today? That's what I'd hoped, but it is the weekend.

Lala—what Gio Jr. calls him, which coincides with his initials, Little Aro—doesn't have a fever. His diaper is bone-dry. I fed him about an hour ago, and he sucked down four ounces.

Clueless, fucking helpless, and mystified as to what the problem was, I continued with what I'd been doing.

"What's wrong?" I cried, wishing he could talk—just tell me. "Please, help Mommy out here."

He continued to wail, his face pink.

Thinking it might be gas, I'd put that Mylicon stuff in his bottle, like Damion suggested. I've been doing that. He burps fairly well regardless, and it doesn't matter. It's obviously not gas—nothing seems to be really wrong and nothing helps.

Maybe my kid just likes to cry?

That can't be.

Something's wrong.

Something I can't see.

Something I'm too dumb to figure out.

Fuck me.

I took a deep breath when a sob got caught in my throat. "Please, baby…"

Embarrassed, unable to help my child, I refused to call my mother. She knows he can be a fussy baby, and with Christmas four days away, she's been busy. She hasn't been by all that much, but I know she'd be here every day if she could.

My stupid ass has also refused help, thinking I could handle it, thinking I could do it all.

But I suck.

I hate myself.

I love my children more than I could ever say. I have no regrets; I just wish I was a better mom, better at being a mom, smarter.

Or clairvoyant, so I could know what was wrong.

Everyone said it'd be harder with two, but I didn't care. Peto's in school now, which does make things easier, and my husband and I wanted to try for another. Given the timing, with Peto starting school, we wanted to go for it. I got pregnant pretty fast, too. We didn't really have to try. We waited the two months for my birth control to wear off, and then voila! I was pregnant, and I didn't even know it.

I just didn't think this would happen. My eldest son was a very good baby. He hardly made a fuss.

Gio, my husband—he left a little while ago, a little after one p.m. Apparently, there's this really famous person who's going to be performing at Midnight Sun tonight. I forget whom; I'm outta the loop when it comes to musicians these days.

Nevertheless, it's the weekend, which means I won't see my husband until Monday, pretty much. Another reason why I can't wait for Monday. He's home a lot more during the week—weekdays.

Running a nightclub, he's gone every weekend.

"Please, please…" I paced the nursery.

"Momma?" Peto entered, a frown on his face.

I sniffled, taking another deep breath. "Yeah…?" I smiled.

"Wha's wrong?" He touched Lala's foot, gazing up to me. "Why you cry?"

"Um…I'm fine. I have a bellyache." I tried to keep my voice light and happy.

"Oh…" Peto rubbed my stomach. "I hates bell-yaches." He walked over to the crib to climb it.

"Hey—"

"The chooch." He grabbed the pacifier. "Lala needs his chu-cho."

"Um…" I couldn't think anymore with my son crying. It killed me, broke my heart each time he wailed, and it frustrated me—I just couldn't fucking think, my brain dead or whatever. "I'll try."

Peto handed it to me. "I'mma hungry." He rubbed his tummy.

"Yeah…I'll, uh…" I tried giving Lala his ciuccio, his pacifier. "Please, take it. Please." I gently ran it along his bottom lip, hoping he'd latch on. "Come on, sweet boy." My stomach knotted up. "Come on." I touched his tongue with it, and he paused between cries with the pacifier still in his mouth.

Another second later, he was sucking it, small whimpers still escaping him.

Afraid, not sure if he'd stay quiet if I put him down, I rocked him some more.

A few minutes later or whatever, he was actually dozing off.

But I was a little confused since he'd just eaten. Pacifiers soothe babies between feedings; however, maybe he was hungry? Maybe he's just a little gavone, and I didn't feed him enough?

If he was hungry again, I'd definitely heat up another bottle, no question. What's the harm in giving him more formula? I've done it a few times, when I figure he might be hungry. He settles down, but then he's screaming a little while later . . .

Nothing helps.

When I was nursing him in the hospital, he kept puking it back up. It didn't sit right, and he did that for a couple of days, until my mother suggested we try regular formula.

The vomiting stopped when we gave him the Similac; the crying did not, but his wailing all the time has gotten worse as the days pass.

Deciding to place him down, I figured if he started crying once more—which was more than likely a given—I'd heat up another bottle.

Thankfully, Lala settled down.

I turned on his monitor before leaving the room.

In the hall, I took several deep breaths while I leaned back against the wall.

Accustomed to the crying, my ears were ringing because of how quiet it suddenly was.

Then I fastened my bathrobe to go check on Peto. And my eyes widened when I saw the time—glancing at it when I passed the living room.

It was almost four p.m., and I hadn't given Peto his lunch.

I'd forgotten to feed my fucking kid.

"Oh my God," I cried, running to the kitchen.

But then I stopped.

My son sat on the floor, which was covered in Cheerios, as he ate the cereal.

He'd broken the box.

And I knew I was horrible.

Who was I fooling?

I'm a sham, the worst mother in the world.

"I feeded myself," he said with a mouthful. "Why you cry now, Momma?"

I tried not to sob as I eased myself onto the floor. "No reason. I'm sorry."

"No be sad." He went to hand me some Cheerios.

I couldn't even remember the last time I'd eaten something. So, I tossed them into my mouth and smiled at my son. "Thank you."

Peto scooted closer to lean his head on my bicep. "I yike'a cereal."

"Me too," I whispered, eating a few more off the floor.

It killed me, broke my heart into a few more pieces that Peto saw me cry, but I couldn't stop. I cried quietly, avoiding his gaze whenever he'd talk to me, and we continued to eat the cereal.

All of which was the most peaceful half-hour ever.

When he'd had enough, he went to watch cartoons, while I swept the kitchen floor—picking all the Cheerios up.

Meanwhile, a solid hour hadn't even passed before Lala was crying again.

My stomach in knots, I threw the contents of the dustpan, all the cereal, into the trash.

Then I ran up to the nursery, feeling light-headed when I approached the top landing. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I smoothed my greasy hair back—telling myself to stay calm.

My mother has told me plenty of times—how babies can sense your energy, like if they're in nervous hands, the baby will get upset, same with if you're crying.

"Hey, little guy!" I kept my voice enthusiastic, but I smelled it. Lala had poop in his diaper. "You're Mr. Stinky Pants." I forced a giggle as I began to change his diaper.

He had a huge dump in there, and it was loose. Lala's had diarrhea for the past few days, but it's not too watery, nasty...just loose and soft. I told the receptionist at the pediatrician's office that, and she told me it was okay.

Even with a clean diaper, my son carried on.

"Please…" I whispered, rocking him in my arms.

My phone vibrated within my robe pocket, and it was Alex—my aunt. Knowing she'd just call and call, I placed Lala down and entered the hall. "Hey," I answered.

"Why do you sound like that?" she asked.

"I'm just tired, you know…" I cleared my throat. "What's up?"

"I'm at the mall, Christmas shopping with your mom. She's in another store. I thought it'd be quicker if I just called you. Is Little Peto still a 4T?"

"No, he a grew a bit...5T or 6T," I said.

"Cool. I just found this really cute outfit—"

"Awesome," I whispered.

"Seriously, Ky. You okay? We can swing by when we leave…?"

My face crumpled as I listened to Lala cry. "I'm fine."

"All right," she sighed. "Take it easy. Okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." I was about to end the call, but she'd continued talking.

"We can come over with some takeout?" she asked. "Eat dinner together."

"Um…It's cool. I'll see you guys tomorrow. We're gonna come to Sunday dinner." I don't even remember if I'd really wanted to go, or just said that to rush her off the phone. But thinking about a break—ten minutes or so when others would gush and hold Lala—I felt even worse, looking to escape. "Bye." I ended the call to sob into my hands. "Fuck!" I kicked the wall before entering the nursery. "Please, baby boy."

My mind wandered again, thinking I should just take him to the emergency room.

Trying to compose myself, I sent Damion a text to see if he was home. Maybe I could just have him give Lala a quick exam? I didn't know, but my brother lives around the corner. When he hadn't answered me back right away, I called Maggie.

"Hey, girl…What's up? How you feelin'?" It sounded like she had her hands full, too. But she was breezy while her own kids made noise—screamed. It's a different kind of screaming, but…

"Um…Is my brother home?" I asked.

The reason I didn't outright call Damion was because he'd hear my voice. Then he'd call my mother, and I had something to prove.

No, I didn't care anymore.

I'd accept any help anyone could give me.

Anything to make this kid stop crying, I thought.

"Yeah…You wanna talk to him? . . . Get off the table!" The latter half of that sentence wasn't for me.

"I meant Damion. Can you look out the window, tell me if his car's there?"

"Sure. Gimme a sec. Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," I lied. "No, not really."

"Want me to come over?" she offered. "Yeah, Dame's home—Jordan too. Both cars are there."

I blew out a calming breath. "Thanks…You stay there. I'm gonna go to Dame's—see if he can check Lala out," I explained. "Maggie, he won't stop crying. He cries almost twenty hours a day or something. I haven't slept—" It was quiet for thirty seconds, and I thought he stopped, but then he wailed. "I suck."

"You don't suck," she said. "Remember how crazy it was—how crazy I was? Having an infant and a one-year-old? It was hard. Being a mom is hard…even when your kid's not crying," she sighed. "I can be there in ten minutes. I just put dinner in the oven, and Santino can take over—"

"It's okay."

"All right. It's pretty cold, even if you're down the block. I'll tell Santino to come get you?" she suggested.

"It'd take longer loading the kids into the car." I ran to my bedroom to put my sneakers on, not caring that I was still in PJs. "And I don't wanna wait. His crying is scaring the crap outta me, Mags."

"We'll go to the ER, Kylie. If you're that concerned—"

"Damion. I'll have Dame look at him. Then…" I thought I was going to vomit.

"Well, whatever you decide…Keep me informed, and, hey…Little Peto can have a sleepover wit' the boys…?"

"I'll let you know." I wiped my tears. "Thanks." I ended the call, and I knew Maggie wouldn't forget to feed him. "God…" I stared to the ceiling.

As fast as I could, I grabbed Peto's sneakers, meeting him in the living room. He wasn't in PJs but wearing a sweat suit.

"Gimme your feet." I quickly placed his shoes on, fastened the Velcro straps.

"We goin' bye-byes?" he asked.

"Yeah. We're going to Uncle Damion's."

"Yes!" He smiled. "I can pway wiff Izzy." He ran from me, probably going to get his coat.

I sighed, trying to ignore Lala as I packed a small bag for him—diapers and shit. Then I grabbed his snowsuit after I put him in some heavy sweats and a sweater.

"You ready?" I called for Peto once we were ready to go and in the foyer.

He ran out holding his coat, a couple of toys in his arms. "Yup!" He bounded down the steps, jumping one at a time.

I bent low to bundle him up as well. "We're gonna play a game. Okay?"

Peto beamed, nodding.

I put his hat on, making sure to cover his ears. "We're gonna run—see how fast we can get to Unky's. All right?" Thoughts of them being in the cold had me totally paranoid. We could be there in five minutes, provided we had a decent pace.

"Cool." He fastened his mittens.

I licked my lips as I placed my bathrobe on Lala. It's thick, big enough to provide a lot of warmth. I'd been wearing it, it has my scent, and I hoped he'd settle down again before I got to Dame's.

After I put on my coat and locked the door, we started to race. I ran with the carriage. Peto had gripped the edge of the stroller and tried to keep up. His little legs can only carry him so fast, and I didn't want him breathing the cold air deeply.

We stopped for a few seconds, and he hopped onto my back.

He laughed and laughed, giggling up a storm while we ran up Dame's walkway.

"Can I ring da bell?" he asked.

"You got it." I tried to catch my breath.

He rang it five times and even leaned on it, but I didn't care.

His persistence made it so Dame answered right away.

My brother's eyes widened in shock. "What's up?"

I tried not to cry as we entered.

"Peto!" Izzy jumped at him.

My son laughed as he dug his toys out from the bottom of the carriage. "I gots'a my stuff."

"Come on." Izzy dragged him toward the living room.

I blew out a breath.

Dame watched them run away and then bent low to uncover his other nephew. "What's up with this little guy?" He took Lala out, rocking him. "Why's he crying?"

"I don't know." I shrugged, trying to keep the tears at bay. "He cries and cries—Damion, something's wrong. I need you—I think I should take him to the emergency room."

"Shhh." Dame kissed my forehead. "It's okay. Relax." He hugged me to his side.

"Hey!" Jordan's face was bright as she rubbed her baby bump. She's six months, and she's having another little girl. And she just looked so happy, and here I am with my crap . . . She works hard during the week, hardly sees Izzy, and here I am.

I just cried harder.

"I'm sorry for barging in," I said.

Her brow furrowed. "That's crap. What's going on?"

I repeated myself, hoping the two docs in the fam could figure it out. I'm not stupid. I know my brother is a pediatric surgeon, and it's not the same as being a pediatrician. I know Jordan delivers babies. She doesn't treat them, but they're both doctors. They both went to medical school.

"Colic," Dame pursed his lips.

"Sounds like Colic," Jordan said. "He has an upset stomach, too? He couldn't digest your breast milk, and he's got diarrhea now?"

I nodded.

She shared a look with my brother. "There's special formula that's hypoallergenic…The one he's on now is obviously no good. And I bet with him crying, you're feeding him more?"

I nodded again as I wiped my eyes.

Jordan reached to do it for me, and I placed my hand on hers, which was soothing. "Don't feel bad…Okay? But…the formula you're giving him now…it's no good. Every time you feed him, he's getting a stomachache...That could be why he's crying so much, or it could be colic, which…you'll have to tough out—see what soothes him best." I knew she didn't wanna say that I was making a bad situation worse. "Let Dame give him a quick exam."

While Dame brought Lala into the kitchen, and Jordan grabbed a stethoscope, I snuck into the bathroom.

I didn't want to look in the mirror, but I did. My eyes were red-rimmed, swollen. There were pinkish splotches on my face, and my hair was a wreck.

Taking a whiff at my pits, I smelled.

"Keep it together," I told myself, grabbing my brother's spray-on deodorant before I splashed my face with water.

Fuck, I wasn't even wearing a bra.

My head was pounding.

Before I left the bathroom, I helped myself to some Advil that was in the medicine cabinet.

They were still looking him over when I entered the kitchen. "Hey…" I grabbed a water from the fridge, and I smelled garlic in the air. "You're cooking?"

Jordan grinned. "Maggie gave me your mom's recipe for baked ziti. There's plenty. I hope you stay for dinner." She gave my hand a squeeze. "Oh, and I have plain noodles for Izzy and Peto."

I tried to smile back, but then it got quiet when Lala finally settled down.

My brother paused to stare, listening intently but keeping the stethoscope to his stomach. "You've been giving him the Mylicon?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

Dame took the stethoscope away from his ears. "I think he's colicky…He's healthy. There's nothing wrong with his anatomy. His vitals are excellent. His heart sounds perfect, as do his lungs..." He shrugged. "His stomach is noisy, though. He's got a lot of gas that could be stuck. He could be having trouble passing gas, which is uncomfortable." He rocked Lala, placing his lips to his hair. "You sit. You guys eat, and I'll run to the store—pick up some Alimentum for him."

"Oh…" I felt even worse for ruining their dinner. "I, uh…"

"Hey," Jordan made me face her, "—go relax. Take a short nap in our bed. I'll feed Peto, and I'll keep an eye on this little guy."

I shook my head. "I'm okay. I'm just worried about him."

She squeezed my hand and then took the baby from my brother.

After Damion left, I had a cup of coffee while I watched Jordan try a million things. She tried swaddling him in different ways, not swaddling him at all, singing to him, and rocking him. My sister-in-law even grabbed Izzy's old vibrating chair, which did the trick for about ten minutes.

I knew he was probably hungry again; it was about that time, the time I'd give him a bottle.

But I didn't. I couldn't—not if his current formula was the culprit, or if it contributed to him crying.

"You can let him cry," Jordan said, taking the tray of ziti out of the oven.

I stared at Lala, who was in the chair on top of the table. "No, I really can't." If I could only explain—admit that his wails threatened to drive me insane. I'd sound horrible.

Thinking of that only made me feel worse, and I tried to hold back my own tears.

"No, I meant…Keep an eye on him—you make sure he's okay. But it's not the worst thing." She placed some plain macaroni into bowls for Izzy and Peto, adding butter. "No mother wants to see their children cry, but sometimes…Kylie, that's all you can do."

"Yeah." I sniffled. "I can't stop either, it seems."

"Momma!" Peto shouted, running into the room with Izzy. "Can I have ronies wiff Izzy?"

I held his face and kissed his lips. "Yeah."

He giggled, backing away.

"Not so fast." Jordan called them back. "Sit at the table." She placed their bowls down and gave them juice boxes.

The kids pulled chairs out, while I grabbed Lala to move him closer—out of their way. He was quieting down again.

I stared out the kitchen window, thinking the Advil was kicking in.

There was a fog on the glass from the oven being on, it being so warm. Peto and Izzy chatted amongst themselves. Jordan hadn't said anything in a few minutes, and it felt peaceful, as I focused my eyes on the different colored lights—the Christmas decorations across the street. They flicked in a beat—on/off, on/off—and my eyes fluttered to a close.

My lids actually burned my eyeballs, but it felt good.

"Kylie?" Jordan whispered.

I jumped. "I'm up."

"Poor baby." She rubbed my cheek. "Go upstairs." She tried to hand me a bowl. "Eat some and try to close your eyes for a bit."

"I'm okay," I lied again, and I knew I didn't have to—not with Jordan, just like I'd told Maggie the truth.

Just like I'd tell my mom now.

Accepting help, soothing my child, was way more important than my pride.

"All right." She served me anyway, taking her own seat next to me. "I bet Dame comes back soon. Then, we'll try giving him the new formula—see how it goes."

"Thank you." My lip quivered as I placed some macaroni in my mouth. It was delicious. "Oh my God…"

"Right?" She smiled. "I didn't think it'd be this good…That I could cook this good."

I giggled, leaning back to look at those lights again.

Knowing it'd be hectic when the baby came, and needing to give Peto a tree—since he's old enough to be aware this year—we decorated the house just after Thanksgiving. I'd even gone Christmas shopping, trying to get it all done while I was big and pregnant.

Thank God, too.

Or else it'd be a shitty Christmas at the Andino house.

When the doorbell rang, my stomach lurched, eyeing my son.

He was still quiet.

And Maggie came into view.

"Aunty!" Izzy lunged to hug her, looking around—both kids did. They were probably looking for Beth.

"Hey." She looked to me, tilting her head to the side.

My face crumpled. "I suck."

She giggled. "You do not." Maggie stood to my side and hugged me close. "I was just coming to see how things went."

"Did you tell Sonny?"

Maggie paused.

"It's okay if you did." I rolled my eyes, knowing she tells him everything.

"I said you were over here." She nodded. "I didn't wanna concern him unless something was up. You know how he worries." Maggie looked to Jordan. "Is Lala okay?"

"Yeah…he'll be all right. So will this one." She gave my knee a squeeze. "She just needs some sleep."

Maggie bent low to talk to me. "We can take both of them for the night. It's no problem—"

I shook my head, knowing Gio would give me shit—for being a piece-of-shit mother or whatever. "I'll be fine."

That's when Damion showed up, and then there were a million people in that kitchen.

"Sonny just told me. Congrats." Dame landed a smooch in Maggie's hair while he got a bottle together.

I stared at my sister-in-law. "You know…it's not a competition." Without her confirming, I knew she was pregnant again.

Maggie pointed to herself. "Dude, this one wasn't planned—far from it."

"Congratulations," I said, standing to give her a hug. Days prior, I'd noticed she'd put on a few pounds, but I didn't think anything of it. "How far along?"

"Twelve weeks." Maggie held her gut. She and my brother were never strict with telling us about their pregnancies. They'd inform the fam as soon as she'd pee on a stick. That was until Maggie miscarried almost two years ago. I could understand why the news was just being delivered now. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

"I don't know." I was honest again. "I love ya, Mags."

"I love you, too." She kissed my cheek, leaning away and sighing. "I gotta head back to the zoo now—feed the animals." Maggie winked. "Call me if anything. Even if you want me to pop by so you can nap or shower." Right now, the thought of her coming over with her brood was worst than my own reality—if she'd bring all the kids. Of course, Maggie by herself or only with Sonny, is welcome at any time.

"And call your mom." Maggie waved to everyone and let herself out.

"Okay. Let's see if Docta' D can help." My brother grinned, gathering Lala into his arms. "Don't you start crying, you," he spoke to the baby, cradling him close. "You're gonna eat and go to sleep, and Momma can relax." He walked out of the kitchen.

Since he had the baby, and the sounds of his cries started to fade into nothing, I relaxed at the table—eating my cold macaroni in a total daze.

The kids had since finished eating, going off to play in Izzy's room.

Jordan flitted about her own kitchen, setting a plate and place for my brother at the table. She seemed happy about it, and I was happy for her, although she's only beginning to play house…hasn't quit working just yet.

But she wore a smile, ecstatic to serve her husband.

Jordan also folded a napkin all pretty.

And I . . .

I felt like a zombie, almost numb but not really, since I could cry if I gave in to it.

Instead, I almost fell asleep with my head in my plate.

Not caring, it being silent again, I crossed my arms and put my head down.

I have no idea how long I'd actually slept at that table.


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