This was not how she envisioned the long-awaited birth of her second child.
Three years ago, Hester Frump found herself in the same hospital. The new mother cradled her baby girl, swaddled in the softest cotton blanket, close against her chest. Her fingers had brushed through a tiny head full of short blonde curls, she had kissed the tiny little crying face over and over. She was the happiest mother to the most beautiful little darling in the world. Her little FiFi.
Yet, the second time around had her mind in knots. Instead of cradling her newborn, the baby was left in a small crib next to the window. Hester sat up in the hospital bed, her head pressed back against the cool white plastic of the headboard.
Maybe she was just tired, exhausted. Maybe the overwhelming smell of antiseptic and bleach was distracting her too much from how she should be feeling.
Her eyes fell to the baby in the crib next to her.
Their second daughter.
It had dawned on her straight away that she struggled to feel anything maternal. There was no sudden rush of emotion, no desire to clutter the small face in a barrage of kisses. No burning swell of love, nor adoration.
Only a month ago that Hester felt on top of the world. Sat in the exclusive Country Club at one of the many outdoor balcony tables, decorated with bunting, pearlescent pink and white balloons. Waiters refilling glasses of the finest champagne whilst Hester sipped on peach coolers as the sun beat down on the group of excitable, jabbering women. A tight-knit social circle made up of fellow wives of the upper class.
They busied themselves discussing the looming arrival of the second Frump daughter as their husbands amused themselves with tennis and golf in the lush grounds below.
She really had been in her element that day. Numerous hands rubbing against her swollen stomach, cards and gifts for the impending arrival littered the table top. Tiny dresses in shades of pink and yellow, teddy bears and blankets in the softest materials.
"...Another little blondie."
"...She will look as beautiful as her sister!"
How wrong those assumptions were.
This baby looked nothing like her big sister. Nor her parents for that matter.
Her obsidian eyes were the opposite of their ocean blue. The blonde tufts that were expected, replaced with inky black, contrasting against pale, colourless skin.
Hester's shoulder's slumped forward as she picked at her nails, tears pricking at her eyes and an uncomfortable lump forming in her throat.
It was disheartening.
The picture-perfect family she craved was not coming to fruition.
A gentle knock at the door brought her from her selfish, self-pity.
She gazed up, her gloomy eyes meeting her husband's happier ones. The sharp click of his dress shoes echoed through the room against the tiled floor as he made his way to his wife's bedside, their eldest daughter snuggled against his chest. "How are you feeling Hessy?" He asked.
"Baby." The small child mumbled as her tiny finger pointed to the crib at her mother's bedside, her legs kicked and swung with excitement against her father.
"Yes, a baby." Hester offered her daughter a faint smile, ignoring her husband's question. Surely it must have been obvious to him that she was far from thrilled.
James observed his wife. He sensed the tension in the sterile blue room, it was thick and uncomfortable. He set the wriggling child to the floor and watched as she stumbled to the crib.
The toddlers' chubby little hands clutched at the rim of the crib, tippy toes gave her the extra boost of height needed to take her first look at the baby, her eyes widened
"My baby." A grin spread like a wildfire over her round face, her eyes dilated with happiness as she jumped up and down.
Hester shifted her glassy gaze to her husband as a tear threatened to fall.
"She is different." He said as he seated himself on his wife's bed facing their new baby, gazing at the crib, leaning forward he brushed a finger against her face. "she's so quiet." He beamed at the thought of the second time around might not be as hard at the first. Ophelia was, loud.
"She is not what I was expecting. People are going to think I had an affair. She looks nothing like you, like us." Motioning to her eldest child.
"Hester..." he turned to face her, his hands cupping hers.
The conversation halted as a knock echoed through the room. A young nurse made her way into the private hospital room, a smile aimed towards the couple.
"Good evening, I have come to check on the little one." tucking the clipboard under her arm and made her way to the crib. The nurse noticed the little blonde girl at the side and knelt to her level. "Hello sweetheart, my name is Abigail, what's your name?" She asked as she pinched the little girl's soft pink cheek, earning herself a smile.
"O-Ophelia."
"It's very nice to meet you." Abigail rose tall once more, rubbing gel into her hands. "I'm going to check on your baby sister, is that okay?"
"My baby." Ophelia waddled to her mother who wasted no time gathering her daughter into the bed, her arms secured around her.
"Is everything okay?"
Abigail scribbled a few notes on her chart. "She is absolutely fine, a quiet little thing, isn't she? Most parent's dream!" she cooed as she tickled under the baby's chin. "Do we have a name yet?"
Hester shook her head. "Not yet." Her eyes avoiding the cradle, focused on twirling her wedding ring around her finger. "Are you sure everything is, okay? She is awfully pale and her eyes are dark and…"
Abigail smiled as she looked at the anxious mother.
"Everything is perfect." She reassured, reaching into her pocket for a pen, clicking the tip, she readjusted her clipboard to make notes. "How long since she last fed?"
"About an hour ago, one of the other nurses gave her a bottle of formula." James said as he grasped his wife's hand after she tugged on the sterile white blanket.
"Okay, we will look to discharge you both tomorrow Mrs. Frump." Abigail said as she looked at the beeping monitor at the bedside. "We need to monitor your blood pressure a little longer."
Hester found it difficult to get comfortable, she was fidgeting, unable to sleep. Sitting on the edge of the bed, her feet on the floor, she watched the baby in a deep slumber.
'18 hours old and yet to cry...'
The nurses worked to convince her that it wasn't unusual for some babies to be quieter. That the moment a baby arrives is not always accompanied by cries and screams that a parent seems to expect. Hester had been able to make out the odd whimper as little arms waved in the air, but that was all.
Her husband had been less than willing to leave the hospital earlier in the evening with Ophelia, leaving Hester with their baby. She found as time had gone by, the urge to hold the newborn had grown.
Hester had managed to cradle her daughter as she fed her. She held the bottle steady as two large black eyes stared up at her. She had absent-mindedly brushed the back of her finger across the baby's cheek. Noticing how soft the skin was.
'Just like your sister…'
Although the maternal instincts were not bubbling within every cell of her body as she was expecting, she had fed the baby. She had dabbed the soft pale pink lips with a cloth and placed the baby against her own chest and rubbed her back.
'Just like I did with Ophelia…'
She held them the same, fed them the same, but with her second, it was everything she was not expecting. She had built up an image of her two girls, what should have been her two blonde girls. Playing, laughing.
Looking like sisters.
She had pressed her forehead into her clammy palm as she evaluated the last 20 hours. The excitement she felt when her contractions started. The nervous energy pouring from her husband as he ushered her to their car. That anticipation now lost in the eeriness of the quiet hospital. The excitement had turned to worry upon seeing the startled look on her husband's face as Hester eagerly pushed the newborn away from herself and towards him when she was born. It was a look that will be forever burnt into her memory.
How tiny she was.
How quiet she was.
Was she really this hung-up and self-centred that everything she was feeling was because of what her baby looked like?
Ophelia had been oblivious to her parent's concerns about her sister. She was three years old, coming up four, and was beyond thrilled about her parents having another baby. Her hands were always on her mother's stomach. Her mouth often pressed against the bump alongside chants of 'can you hear me?' much to her parents' amusement.
Hester had watched as Ophelia tried to stretch herself to see the baby. How she stuck her tongue out as she tried in vain to touch the baby's face.
The look of sheer elation and adoration on her face as James had placed the baby in Ophelia's arms. The number of kisses she placed on her baby sister. The gentle squeezes, the way she touched her nose to her sisters.
The truth was, Ophelia had shown more affection to the newborn than her mother had.
James had snapped a photograph of her whilst commenting on how gentle she was with her sister. He was not thrown by the baby's appearance unlike Hester. Sure, for a family of blondes, a child with black hair was a surprise, but his mother had dark hair, didn't she? He couldn't remember.
He had sat with his daughters whilst Hester had a well-earned shower. Ophelia threw every flower name she knew at her father as a potential name for her sister.
"Daisy?"
"No."
"Petal?"
"No."
"Rose?"
"No."
To him, a flowery name would not suit his baby. He would have to discuss it with Hester. James was quite content sitting in the uncomfortable vinyl chair with his daughters, cradling one and kissing the other on the forehead.
"Stem?"
"N…." He stuttered, looking down as a grinning Ophelia as her hands clasped over her mouth. "Stem?"
"I cannot do it," Hester said as she secured the belt of her coat around her waist, and gathered her bag.
James looked up at her perplexed. "Do what?" his fingers still grazing the soft baby's cheek as she rested in his arms, his smile returned to his face as the newborn wriggled against the blanket.
"I cannot take her home."