Four: Grooming
"...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..."
"Your turn," Astrid handed Kurti over to Johannes.
He took up the baby boy and took over pacing the floor with him.
Kurti was clean. They checked his diaper every few seconds, so he was
dry as well. He didn't have gas. He wasn't sick. He was too young to
have any teeth coming out, and he didn't want to try and chew anything,
anyway.
He was tired, that much was plain, but he didn't want to settle.
He just cried, and cried, and *cried*.
"...aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaahhhh... (gasp gasp) Waaaaaaaahhhhhh..."
Papa had wandered in, his brushes held absently in either hand as if
he'd heard the crying and forgotten what he was doing. "What's wrong
with the boy?" he asked.
"We don't know," said Johannes. "We've tried *everything*. He doesn't
want a bath. He isn't hungry,"
"For a change," said Astrid from the couch. Apart from her brief
speech, she was apparently comatose.
Johannes continued, pacing and bouncing with Kurti. "He's *been*
burped. He doesn't have a temperature. He's clean and dry. He cries when
I sing to him. He cries when I read to him..."
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh..."
"He just *cries*..."
"Ach... Poor lad. You two go have a rest. I'll nurse him for a while."
Johannes handed the crying boy over. "*Thank* you. He's been going
since the small hours this morning. We're exhausted."
Together, he and Astrid stumbled towards their bedchamber. Nice bed.
Nice, *soft* bed.
"...aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaa..."
And a crying baby in the background.
"Poor little boy," sighed Johannes.
"Mmmm," said Astrid. Half-unconscious.
"*WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH*HAAAAAAAAAAAaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaa..."
Astrid started sniffling. She didn't know what to *do*. She was
supposed to be his Mama and she didn't know what he wanted.
"...aaaaaaahhhhaaaaa... (hic) ...aaaa..."
Poor Papa. He must be at his wit's end trying to calm the poor boy.
"Astrid?"
"Mmmm?"
"He's stopped crying."
She snapped awake. Next to crying, silence - especially *sudden*
silence - was the most frightening noise to hear. What if something was
*really* wrong?
She leaped up and ran for the lounge.
"Shhh..." said Papa. He was brushing Kurti with the soft hair brush.
"I just got him quiet."
"With a *hairbrush*?" asked Johannes, behind her.
Papa just shrugged. "I guess he doesn't like tangles in his fur."
Astrid turned to her husband. "He just wanted to be brushed," she
said, and then found herself bawling into his shoulder.
Johannes patted her shoulder. "I think we should get some rest."
"I think you should," agreed Papa.
"...waaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaa..."
Kurti gave her a look that said, "What are *you* upset about?
Everything's *fine*..."
Johannes gently guided her to bed and held her until she fell asleep.
It was amazing the things she had to learn about her little blue baby.
"...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..."
"Your turn," Astrid handed Kurti over to Johannes.
He took up the baby boy and took over pacing the floor with him.
Kurti was clean. They checked his diaper every few seconds, so he was
dry as well. He didn't have gas. He wasn't sick. He was too young to
have any teeth coming out, and he didn't want to try and chew anything,
anyway.
He was tired, that much was plain, but he didn't want to settle.
He just cried, and cried, and *cried*.
"...aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaahhhh... (gasp gasp) Waaaaaaaahhhhhh..."
Papa had wandered in, his brushes held absently in either hand as if
he'd heard the crying and forgotten what he was doing. "What's wrong
with the boy?" he asked.
"We don't know," said Johannes. "We've tried *everything*. He doesn't
want a bath. He isn't hungry,"
"For a change," said Astrid from the couch. Apart from her brief
speech, she was apparently comatose.
Johannes continued, pacing and bouncing with Kurti. "He's *been*
burped. He doesn't have a temperature. He's clean and dry. He cries when
I sing to him. He cries when I read to him..."
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh..."
"He just *cries*..."
"Ach... Poor lad. You two go have a rest. I'll nurse him for a while."
Johannes handed the crying boy over. "*Thank* you. He's been going
since the small hours this morning. We're exhausted."
Together, he and Astrid stumbled towards their bedchamber. Nice bed.
Nice, *soft* bed.
"...aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaa..."
And a crying baby in the background.
"Poor little boy," sighed Johannes.
"Mmmm," said Astrid. Half-unconscious.
"*WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH*HAAAAAAAAAAAaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaa..."
Astrid started sniffling. She didn't know what to *do*. She was
supposed to be his Mama and she didn't know what he wanted.
"...aaaaaaahhhhaaaaa... (hic) ...aaaa..."
Poor Papa. He must be at his wit's end trying to calm the poor boy.
"Astrid?"
"Mmmm?"
"He's stopped crying."
She snapped awake. Next to crying, silence - especially *sudden*
silence - was the most frightening noise to hear. What if something was
*really* wrong?
She leaped up and ran for the lounge.
"Shhh..." said Papa. He was brushing Kurti with the soft hair brush.
"I just got him quiet."
"With a *hairbrush*?" asked Johannes, behind her.
Papa just shrugged. "I guess he doesn't like tangles in his fur."
Astrid turned to her husband. "He just wanted to be brushed," she
said, and then found herself bawling into his shoulder.
Johannes patted her shoulder. "I think we should get some rest."
"I think you should," agreed Papa.
"...waaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaa..."
Kurti gave her a look that said, "What are *you* upset about?
Everything's *fine*..."
Johannes gently guided her to bed and held her until she fell asleep.
It was amazing the things she had to learn about her little blue baby.