Title: This Thing About Birthdays
Author: Andrea
Rating: R
Summary: Abby and Carter had a baby. In one of my fics? Amazing, I know.
Author's Note: Thanks, COURTNEY. Took you long enough, but you know how I love you never-ending praise. So I went for short and sweet with this one. Hope you all enjoy. And you know if you could review … it would really cheer me up. And the cheerier I get, the more likely I am to crank out more chapters. Just, you know, FYI.
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This Thing About Birthdays
Part III
Chapter 14: Daddy's Turn
As soon as I roll over, I know that something is different. I open up my eyes and realize that the bed is empty. A glance at the clock confirms that this is the time of night when I should roll over to find Abby and Meg sound asleep -- or awake and nursing -- next to me. Instead, I have the bed all to myself, and the room is eerily quiet. But when I listen closely, I can hear the muffled sounds of the baby crying. And then the worry reflex, as I like to think of it, kicks in. What if something's wrong? I hop out of bed and hurry across the room, opening the door and stepping into the hallway. The faint glow of light from the room next door tells me that Abby and Meg are in the nursery.
I open the door quietly and find a very sleepy-looking Abby slumped in the rocking chair in the corner of Meg's room. The little bundle in her arms is fussing even while Abby rocks back and forth half-heartedly.
"Hi," she says, flatly looking up at me with a similarly flat expression. The exhaustion is obvious in her face.
I have no idea why she's in here, sitting up with the baby. The normal pattern is that we put Meg down for the night in her bassinet in our room. About five minutes later we're sound asleep in our own bed. But this arrangement never lasts more than a few hours because the first time Meg wakes us for a feeding, I get her, change her, and bring her back to Abby. And that's where the baby stays for the rest of the night. Sleeping in between us in the middle of our bed. So far it's been working pretty well. Maybe not the most restful sleep ever for Abby and I, but the baby seems to sleep well. And her parents have been getting by, too. Clearly whatever Abby is trying to do tonight isn't as successful.
"Hi," I say to Abby. "What are you doing in here?"
"She was kinda fussy tonight."
"So?"
"So … I wanted you to get a good night's sleep for once. You slept through her first round of crying -- and you just looked so tired -- and then when she kept fussing … well, before she could wake you, I brought her in here."
"And you're just gonna sit up in the rocking chair all night?"
"Well, I thought that maybe after I fed her, I could lay her down in the crib. Actually try it out. And if she stayed asleep, I was going to sneak back to bed. Unfortunately, she seems to have other ideas."
"She is used to sleeping in our bed with us."
"She's ten days old, how can she be used to anything?"
"It's all she's ever known," I say as I cross the room and sit down on the little ottoman that matches the rocker, putting me just inches away from Abby and the baby.
"I tried laying down with her in the guest room, but she still fussed. She was fussing when she was in bed with us, too. She usually nurses happily and then falls right to sleep. But not tonight. Something's not quite right with her, I guess."
"Is she sick?" I reach out to touch the baby's head and find her nice and cool to the touch.
"I don't think so," Abby sighs. "No fever. She's eating just fine. She's just not sleeping. So she's fussing instead. Probably because she's tired."
"So why doesn't she go to sleep?"
"I don't know," Abby says with a tired, little half smile, "You'd have to ask her. Maybe it's baby insomnia." She looks down at Meg with a yawn. "What's wrong, pumpkin? Huh? Just can't fall asleep?" Meg starts crying a bit harder, and in response, Abby cuddles her a bit closer, rocking with more energy. Abby sighs, letting her head fall back against the chair. "I can't believe it. I jinxed us."
"What?" I ask her, confused.
"Yeah. Just this morning --when I woke up after a fairly good night's sleep-- I actually thought to myself, 'Wow, we really got lucky -- she's such a good sleeper.' I couldn't understand what all this fuss was about having a new baby and getting no sleep. I was getting plenty of sleep. Even with breastfeeding, I was getting plenty of sleep since she was just joining me in bed. But no sooner did I think that … and look what happened. Where's my good sleeper now? She's up all night fussing at me. And I'll be damned if I know what she wants. I fed her, I changed, I walked her, I rocked her."
"Maybe she just needs to cry," I suggest gently, reaching out for Abby's hand.
"Well that sucks. Talk about bad timing. I hope she's not gonna wanna cry all night every night. Because I don't think I could take it."
"Ab?" She lifts her head from the rocker and looks at me. Although it's debatable as to whether she's actually able to focus on me. She's really not used to this being up all night thing. "Let me take her for a while."
"No, you should go back and get some sleep."
"I already got a few hours under my belt, and you look beat. So you should go sleep for a couple hours."
"She's gonna need to eat."
"Oh. Do you want to feed her first?"
"No, I just fed her." Abby's almost making sense, but she sounds like she's in a daze. Half-asleep, I suppose.
"Then she won't need to eat for a little bit. So why don't you go on to bed?" I implore her, holding out my arms for Meg.
"But it's your birthday. I wanted to give you a full night's sleep as a gift."
"You already gave me more than enough this year," I tell her, gently removing Meg from her arms. "Besides, what I really want for my birthday is to have my baby girl all to myself for a while."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Now come on, let's get you to bed." I carefully stand up with Meggie in my arms. Then I move her to one arm so that I can give Abby a hand getting out of the rocker before leading her back to our bedroom. I pull back the covers for her, and she seems to literally fall into bed, looking up at me all bleary-eyed.
"Happy birthday," she whispers.
"Thank you," I say, leaning over to kiss her forehead. And even with a fussing Meg so close to her, Abby's eyes drop closed. Well, it is almost four in the morning, and I'll bet she didn't sleep at all tonight. She probably waited up for Meg to wake for her first feeding. So she's probably been up for almost twenty-four hours. Not a major feat for her a few months ago, but she did just have a baby a little more than a week ago. And said baby does demand frequent feedings that only her mother can provide right now. No wonder Abby's not up to sitting up all night holding Meg.
Meg, who is starting to cry harder. I figure it's time to get out the bedroom before Abby wakes up and changes her mind about turning the baby over to me. I notice a distinct odor in the air. And if Meg just ate … well, usually a feeding also means a diaper change. Somehow at night we all manage to sleep in spite of it. But during the day (or when we are fully awake at night) we like to keep on top of it. So Meg and I head next door and get her diaper changed. I'm actually getting pretty good at it. Once she's cleaned up and re-diapered and rewrapped, we go downstairs for a little Daddy-daughter time. Armed with a pacifier and a burp clothe, I settle down on the couch with the baby. I put her over my shoulder and start rubbing and patting her back, hoping to elicit a burp. Maybe she's fussy tonight because she's got a gas bubble trapped in there somewhere. Especially since she did just eat. And with her mother in a hazy, dream-like state, it's tough to tell whether or not Meg got burped. Then again, she doesn't get burped in the middle of the night when she and Abby fall asleep in our bed in the middle of nursing. So maybe it's not gas. Maybe it's something else.
"I know," I say aloud to Meg, "You just can't sleep because you're so excited about Daddy's birthday, right?"
Meg doesn't answer, just burps in my ear. A big burp, but hopefully not a wet one. I change her position in my arms, moving her into a cradle hold, so I can check for signs of spitting up. Ah, just a little bit at the corner of her mouth. I wipe it away gently, smiling down at her. I can't wait for the day that she smiles back at me. She hasn't done it yet, but any day now we might get a real smile out of her. So far we've seen her make smiley-faces in her sleep, which Abby always attributes to gas. And I guess it's not a real smile until it's in response to something, anyway.
Right now, Meg has quieted down and is just regarding me carefully. I would almost say suspiciously. Except she's a newborn and has no idea how to look at someone with suspicion. But still …well, I'm not yet convinced she knows who I am. Abby says that I'm being ridiculous and points out that Meg invariably turns her head toward my voice so she must recognize me. But as true as that is, it's Abby's voice that has the power to soothe her. Even at ten days old, I swear my daughter is playing favorites. And naturally, she prefers her mother. Which is how it should be, I guess, considering what Abby went through to bring her into the world. Still … I wouldn't say I'm jealous, exactly, but … well, let's just say I'm glad to have Meg all to myself right now. It doesn't happen much. What with the way Meg needs Abby. Or maybe the way Abby needs Meg.
Not that I'm not thrilled that Abby is such a conscientious mother. I am. I think it's great. Abby's really taken to motherhood like a duck to water. To say Abby really loves our baby wouldn't even begin to cover it. To say that Abby is infatuated with Meg to the point that it borders on obsession would be a little bit closer to the truth. Not that it's a bad thing. To all appearances, Abby loves motherhood. And she's good at it. Which can a bit intimidating. Abby is so on top of … everything when it comes to Meg, that sometimes I feel … inadequate. Abby always seems to know what she wants or what she needs. Abby picks her up and whispers to her, and immediately Meg is comforted. And every time Meg so much as makes a peep, Abby is there. Some sort of weird mother-radar kicks in, and SuperMommy swoops in to save Meg. Half the time, it's before I've even realized that Meg needs something. So I guess it's kind of by default that so far Abby seems to have spent so much more time with Meg. And no wonder Meg likes her better. But now it's my turn to spend some quality time with Meg.
This is the first time, I think, that Abby's voluntarily turned Meg over to me. At least without hovering nervously in the background waiting to make sure that the baby didn't need to be rescued from my ineptitude. I'm all too well aware that it only happened tonight because Abby was practically asleep sitting up, and I took total advantage of her state of exhaustion. But she gets to sleep while Meg and I bond, so I think it works out well for all of us.
"Hey, sweetie," I say, looking down at Meg, "Do you feel better now? Huh? You seem happier. Were you all gassy? Or did you just want a chance to hang out with Daddy? You wore out your mom. So now that Mommy's out of the way, it's just you and me. What do you think about that?"
She's apparently unimpressed. She blinks at me, then starts making 'Os' with her mouth. I mimic her movements, making my lips into the shape of an O as well. She brings her little hands up to her face. Her nails would be digging into her cheeks right now, if her nightgown didn't have those fold-over flaps to cover her tiny hands. I remember the first time Abby showed me one of the little t-shirts with these built-in mittens, and I had no idea what they were for. But Abby knew. And now she wouldn't think of putting Meg to bed without covering her little hands to protect her from her nocturnal scratching. The only problem is, this way, I can't hold Meg's little hand. So push back one of the little cuffs and slip my finger into her palm. She immediately gets a good grip on it, and I grin like an idiot at her.
"You are so lucky, Meg. Do you know that? You have the best mommy. You really do. Okay, so maybe she hogs you a little bit. That's not so bad. In fact, it's good for you. Having such an attentive mother. And do you what she's going to do today? She's having a birthday party for me. Can you believe it? I told her not to worry about it. After all, she only had you a week ago. But she wanted to do it. So everybody is coming over to see you later. Oh, they might say they are coming for my party, but we all know they're coming to see you. But that's okay with me. And who can blame them? I mean, look at you … you're gorgeous."
I run my hand over her head full of red curls. My God, she is beautiful. And she's mine. I have a daughter named Meg. A part of me, a part of Abby … I wonder when you get to the point where you don't look at them with such wonder anymore? I know there must come a time when this little person's existence will be something that I take for granted. And I guess that's how it has to be if I'm gonna have any chance at all at not spoiling her rotten. But right now I can't imagine not staring at her in awe, marveling at her existence. And I hope that never really ends completely. I hope even on days when it's hard, or when she's being difficult, or when she's been a part of my life for so long that it seems as if she was always here I'll still be able to look at her and see the angel that I hold in my arms right now. I know that at some point this baby euphoria has to end and we'll settle into the new routine of our lives. And I know that this new life will quickly become … well … routine. But I still hope that some of the feelings that are so strong today will last forever. I know I don't ever want to forget what this feels like. And hopefully, watching her sleeping form, even when she's in the midst of the terrible twos or the terrible teens, I'll be able to remember these first days and be reminded of what a miracle she really is.
I stare at her little face, trying to memorize every last detail about her. She looks up at me with the same concentration. She's wide awake. Quiet at the moment, but showing no particular interest in sleeping. "Don't you know it's the middle of the night, and you're supposed to be asleep? Yeah, it's nighttime. Baby Meg is supposed to be nighty-night. You usually sleep at night. So what's going on? Full moon?"
Needless to say, she doesn't answer me, just gurgles in my arms. "Well, it's okay. I like being up with you. Did you know that? Did you know how much Daddy would enjoy sitting up with his little girl? Are you trying to give me a birthday gift? This is the best one you could have given me. I've been wanting some time alone with you. I thought I might have to lock your mom in the closet to get it, though. But this way … I think even she'll be glad. She was pretty tired, huh? You were keeping her up. But don't worry, she loves it. Just try not to do it too often. Or we'll all be sorry."
I don't really think Meg is paying any attention. In fact, she starting to fuss a bit again. Quickly the fussing turns to more lusty crying.
"Shh, sweetie. It's okay, Meggie. Daddy's here. You're okay."
I jiggle her in my arms, I rock my arms back and forth. And still she cries. I try holding her up against my shoulder, and then cuddled against my chest. I try that football hold thing that Abby does, with her wrapped tight and tucked under my arm. I get up and walk around, bouncing with each step, patting and rubbing her back soothingly. I hold her with her belly resting on my forearm, her head supported by my hand, rocking my arm back and forth. I try whispering. I try singing. I try the pacifier -- on several occasions. Every time I offer it to her, she spits it out or cries harder. I'm beginning to understand why Abby looked so weary. This crying can wear you out.
"Okay, Meg … I give up. We'd better try something else." But what? I look around the room, and my eyes land on the bouncy seat, sitting on the floor in the corner. We haven't used it too much since usually Meg is being held by someone. Maggie and Eric were here the better part of the week that we've been home with the baby, so there hasn't been any shortage of arms to hold her. But we might as well try out that bouncy seat sometime. No time like the present, I guess.
"So let's see how this thing works, huh Meg? What do you say?" I put her in the bouncy seat, securing her with the wide strap across her lap. This seat has a vibrating function … probably something similar to sticking her on the washing machine. I turn it on now, hoping that it might soothe her. It doesn't seem to have any effect whatsoever. But with my hands free, it's easier to hold in the pacifier for her. That seems to quiet her down, once she has it securely in her mouth. She takes a little shuddery breath as she stops crying.
"That's better." Of course now I'm sitting on the floor in the corner with her. I should have taken the seat over to the couch. Well, I suppose I can move it with her in it. Carefully I slip my arms under the seat and scoop it up. I walk slowly across the room and set the seat down on the coffee table. So far, so good. I move my arms away carefully. I even push on the top of the seat, causing it to bounce, as its name suggests, thinking this might lull Meg. All seems well as I sit down on the couch in front of the baby in the bouncy seat, intending to talk to her. But as I sit, my knee bumps against Meg's chair and jostles her. The pacifier comes tumbling out … and the screams follow by mere seconds.
"Here we go again," I sigh under my breathe. I try sticking the pacifier back in, but Meg seems uninterested in it now. She's really working herself up now. So I take her out of the bouncy seat and try walking her again. When that doesn't do much, I decide to try the swing. Another piece of baby paraphernalia that we've yet to use. I carefully put Meg in and set it to swinging. And she quiets down. Wow. Okay. I'll take it. As I watch her swinging back and forth, she seems pretty relaxed. Maybe she'll even fall asleep. Her eyes seem to close every time the swing travels backward and open every time it moves forward. So maybe soon they'll stay closed. But looking at her tiny little body in the big swing, I can't help but think she looks uncomfortably slumped over. So I go over and straighten her out, trying to nestle her head in the cushion provided to make the swing more comfortable for newborns.
Of course, this pisses her off to no end, and she starts crying again. I try holding the pacifier in her mouth, but no dice. Well, that was pretty smooth. I had her calm, but then I made her cry again. Eventually I give up on the miracle of the baby swing happening twice in one night and take her out. Back to the walking. This time I try cradling her my arms. I stick the binky in her mouth and turn her so that her little head in pushed up against my chest, holding the pacifier in her mouth. Finding a good rhythm to my bouncy steps, I take to patting her little bottom steadily while I hum and sing quietly. After a few minutes of this routine, her cries taper off.
I take a deep breath and let out a sigh. So does Meg. Okay, this is better. I smile down at her, not stopping my patting or rocking. I watch as her little eyelids get heavier and droop more and more. But it seems like every time that her eyes are about to close, something in her pulls her back into wakefulness, and her eyes pop open once again. She looks so tired. Her little eyes look so heavy. So why is she fighting it? Why doesn't she just let herself fall asleep?
"Meggers, you're so sleepy," I say in what I hope is a soothing tone of voice. "Go to sleep, Meggie." I run the back of my finger over her soft little cheek. Her eyes finally close and her breathing evens out. Okay, she's asleep. Good. I sit down carefully on the couch.
But not carefully enough, I guess. Suddenly Meg's eyes fly open and she starts crying in earnest once again. Her little hands are raised up to her face, and I can imagine her fists balled up inside her little mittens. She draws up her knees, too and irritably turns her head back and forth. She's not happy. What I don't know is if this is some kind of colic or if she's hungry. The way her knees are drawn up, I would imagine it's her belly that's bothering her one way or the other.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" I ask, rubbing her belly lightly. Then I probe a bit harder, doing a belly check. It's benign, so I assume this is run-of-the-mill gas. I keep rubbing, hoping to ease any pain she might have. But when she spits out her pacifier and turns her head toward me, rooting against my t-shirt clad chest, I start to think that maybe she's just hungry. Her rooting gets a bit more serious, with her trying to … nurse on me through my shirt.
"Sorry, honey, Daddy can't help you with this one. Time to go wake Mommy, I think."
Meg and I go back upstairs, detouring into the nursery for another diaper change. I'm not sure she needs it, but it can't hurt to go in with a clean slate. Besides, maybe her crying will penetrate Abby's subconscious and wake her slowly.
Or maybe not. I walk into our bedroom, and can see, thanks to the sky which is starting to lighten already, that Abby is zonked out in the middle of the bed. Sprawled across it on her back, snoring. Well, as soon as I get Meg close to her, I'm sure she'll wake up. I crawl into the bed with the crying baby, expecting that Abby, who usually jumps up at the sound of Meg hiccupping, will wake immediately. Nope, not so much.
"Abby," I say, quietly, leaning over to shake her shoulder gently. She rolls over on to her side toward me, but her eyes don't open. "Abby, wake up. C'mon. Meg needs you. She's hungry, sweetie. You have to wake up." She mumbles something incoherent. Well, this is ridiculous. Meg is practically crying in her ear. I can't believe she's still asleep. I lay my hand on her forehead, worried that maybe she's sick. But she feels cool enough. Maybe all the vigilance over Meg for the past week has finally caught up with her. Maybe she's just in that deep sleep that's hardest to wake from.
I flip on the bedside light and shake Abby once again. "Abby, c'mon, wake up. Abby? Abby!" Nothing. Great. I've got a starving, breastfeeding newborn in my arms and a wife who is dead to the world. I move a little closer to Abby, thinking maybe Meg crying in her ear will get through to her. And in fact, Meg starts crying harder. Maybe she's close enough now that she can smell Abby's milk. Speaking of which, I look down at Abby and see two tell-tale wet patches forming on her nightshirt. Even if she doesn't know what's going on, her body does. With Meg's cries, her milk is letting down. Well, okay … Abby's nursed her enough times in her sleep … maybe I should just stick Meg on. It can't be that hard.
I lay Meg down in the middle of the bed and reach over toward Abby. Her nightshirt is the kind meant to look like a button down shirt. So … it's got a bunch of buttons down the front, oddly enough. I start unbuttoning the top button.
"Not now, Carter. I'm tired," Abby says quite clearly, swatting my hand away. She turns over onto her other side, her back toward me now.
"Abby. Abby, you have to feed the baby." I say as I lean over her and unbutton a couple more buttons, then push the material out of the way.
"Uh-huh," she mumbles, but her eyes don't really open up. However, as soon as I lay Meg next to her body, Abby's arms immediately encircle her, pulling her close, arranging the baby into the right position. Even in her sleep, she knows just what to do. But then, she's been doing this, in her sleep, since Meg was born. All of ten days ago. Still amazing. But I guess some things just come naturally. Or you adjust quickly. Certainly Meg has. Odd to think that a little more than a week ago, she was still inside of Abby. Now here she is out in the world -- a living, breathing, crying baby.
Of course, she's not crying now. She's happily suckling at her mother's breast, no doubt feeling a sense of comfort being so close to her, wrapped protectively in Abby's arms. And now, finally, Meg's eyes seem to be drifting shut. I watch as they slowly and steadily close, her long curved lashes resting against her soft little cheek. She's not fighting sleep anymore. There's no coaxing to be done. Here, nestled in Abby's arms, she's drifting off into a peaceful sleep. Abby's already there, apparently. So I turn out the light and settle down next to my family, draping my arm over Abby, my hand coming to rest lightly on Meg's back. I close my eyes, preparing to join my girls in a contented sleep, thinking that even though the sun's not up yet, this is already the best birthday I've ever had.