The doctor inspected the baby and pronounced her a success. She weighed nearly eight pounds, a respectable size for a girl baby. He saw to Christine and promised to return and monitor her recovery. Before he left, he gave me high marks for soldiering through Christine's ordeal; I could not imagine what alternative he thought I had at the time.
When I looked at the tiny girl, I couldn't believe Masson had ever been like her. Of course, she was smaller, and a girl, but she looked so fragile. When she cried, it was nothing like the sound Masson made when I first met him. Her cries were so soft; I doubted one would hear her even in the next room. Those cries made me ache inside. I longed to rush to her and do…I don't know what, but something to satisfy her cries.
Christine seemed a bit tired but, interestingly, energized as well; not too tired to hold court as she nursed her new daughter. She would have that drink of water now; and a new nightgown, please; but first, I was to get new linens on the bed immediately. Right.
Reza was glowing so brightly when I entered the kitchen that I was nearly blinded. He clapped me in his arms and bestowed a ridiculous array of kisses upon me. "A beautiful baby girl, Erik! Silke said you outdid yourself! Come, have a drink with me!"
"Let me be, you unmarried bastard! What, do you think I'm off duty? Silke, may I have fresh linens, please?" I squeaked.
"How is Christine?" Reza asked.
"Christine is doing quite well, but the dairy is open and she's looking for something to drink. I must return." I accepted the fresh linens. "Thank you, Silke. Please get some rest."
As I rushed from the room, I realized I'd hurt Uncle Reza's feelings. I stopped and embraced him fondly. "Daroga, let's have a drink tomorrow when Christine can join us. It's just that if I stop now…" My eyes filled and my lip wobbled uncontrollably.
"Oh, there you go, a blubbering new father. Here, take my handkerchief and get back to your wife," Reza smiled.
By the time I returned to Christine and the baby, we already had a situation. The problem was, Christine wanted to wash up while I fixed the bed, but she didn't want to leave the new pink bundle under my watchful but apparently incompetent eye. I didn't want to leave Christine alone to wash up just yet. I simply could not believe she should be—much less could be—up and about. Since the tiny angel had drifted off to sleep, it seemed a perfect opportunity. I could assist Christine with her toilette, the little one dreaming peacefully in her crib, and we could return to the bedroom in a matter of minutes. However, the idea of leaving the baby, immobile as she was, alone in the crib, was a vile, heinous, and immoral idea. In response to my concerns about her own welfare, Christine insisted there was nothing wrong with her. Women have babies all the time; it's silly to lie about in bed, Erik.
Oh.
Ultimately, I was allowed to accompany Christine to the bathroom and hold the baby while she freshened up. Then, the pair settled into the big chair while I fixed the bed for them. Christine and I agreed that we'd choose a name for the little princess in the morning. We'd let Masson have a vote…but no more Christines! Finally, my girls were fresh and cozy in bed and I staggered to the big chair.
"Erik, please come lie down with us."
"I don't think so, Christine. She's too tiny, what if I roll over? "
"Just come cuddle for awhile, and then I'll get in the middle so you won't worry."
"Then she'll fall off the edge!" I panicked.
"No; I won't let her go, Erik."
I lay down gingerly, afraid I'd awaken the little one just from disturbing the bed. She was still unreal to me, this tiny living thing.
"Erik, she's so perfect…thank you for my perfect baby girl…" Christine whispered. "Do you realize what you did today, Erik? You were amazing; I'm so proud of you." She leaned across the baby to kiss me.
"I didn't do anything, Christine; you're the amazing one. People say every birth is a miracle, but I wonder how many really learn the truth of it. You should have seen yourself today! You're a miracle, Christine."
"I'm so glad you were with me, Erik," she murmured. Sleep was descending.
"I wouldn't have been anywhere else, Angel. I'll never forget today."
Christine rearranged the baby and snuggled into me. I slipped my arm around her and fell asleep instantly.
Christine and I were both jarred awake—Masson crying. I bolted into his room. He was sitting up in bed. I was glad to see he'd not bounced out on his head, and his crying was more of the sad variety than hurt or sick.
"Paa-paa…I went pee-pee…"
I heaved a sigh of relief and scooped up the soggy little man.
"It's alright, Son; sometimes we make mistakes when we're learning new things. You slept a long time, there's no harm done. Papa will fix the bed and no one will know, alright?"
He nodded and sucked his fingers. I stripped the bed one-handed.
"There: see? Now we'll get a fresh nightshirt, have a quick wash-up in the bathroom, and Masson is good as new."
As I pulled the new nightshirt over his head, I asked, "So, what would you like to do next? Go have breakfast, or say good morning to Mama and meet your new baby sister?"
"BABY SISTER! BABY SISTER!"
Well, the household was up now, definitely.
"Right, but no hollering, remember when you met Fahim." I tried to restrain the wildly bouncing bear, but he was nearly solid enough to pull spindly Papa along.
"Ssshhh," Masson remembered.
We knocked softly.
"Come in, we're awake," Christine called.
Masson darted in the door ahead of me, but was suddenly overcome with shyness when he spied the ladies in bed. He ducked behind me, clutching my leg and sucking his fingers.
"Masson, come see," Christine encouraged him. "We have an important job today; we must find a name for our new baby."
Masson would not move of his own accord, but if my leg moved, he would go forward with it. Thus we reached the side of the bed. He balanced on tiptoe to have a look at the bundle. His eyebrows knit into a frown when he realized exactly what was going on between the baby and Christine. Christine caught his angry expression at the same moment I did.
"See how new babies have to eat?" she smiled. "Remember when you were a tiny baby? Now, you're able to have chocolate, and jam and bread, and you can drink from a big-boy cup, and cuddle with Mama just the same as always. Would you like to come up and cuddle now?"
No, he shook his head vehemently; he most certainly would not, thank you very much. It didn't appear to me that he was buying any of that chocolate, jam and bread nonsense either. I cast a worried glance at Christine; she either didn't see or was ignoring me.
"Shall I lift you so you can see her better, Son?" I offered.
No, thank you; he wasn't interested in that either. I decided now was a good time to panic; the day was going to hell even more quickly than I had imagined.
The baby was full for the moment, and Christine popped her onto her shoulder and gave her a couple of thumps on the back. The sight of his former ba-ba was too much for Masson.
"Mama," he whined pitifully, and climbed into Christine's lap. He didn't even make a pretense of trying to leave room for the pink interloper as he took possession of Christine's breast. I opened my mouth to protest, but Christine gave me a Look. We had a brief parental visual conversation and I shut up.
"There; you see?" Christine smiled. She settled the dozing baby in one arm and cuddled Masson with the other. "You may do that if you like, but you have choices because you're a big boy. You're able to do so many more things than your little sister can." Masson decided he could suck on his fingers just as well, so long as he monopolized Mama's lap and kept his cheek against her breast. Christine raised a quick eyebrow at me; I conceded the point.
I sat in the big chair; all was quiet in the bed as Masson stared at his new sister. I had nearly dozed off when he asked, "Why is it pink?"
"Because her skin is brand new. When you get a scrape, and the covering comes off, the skin underneath is brand new and pink, isn't it?" Mothers seem to have answers for everything.
The baby yawned—a funny sight. Masson giggled.
"Look! Silly baby, see that? Do you see any teeth in there?" Christine asked. Masson shook his head. "No, not even one tooth and you with all your teeth!" Masson giggled again. His body posture and increased wiggling suggested that he was relaxing, if not exactly warming to the baby's presence.
"Mama, we can name it Christine."
There's a surprise.
"We already have two Christines, Darling. I'm sure Christine doesn't want to share his name with the baby and me. Can you think of another name?"
"Erik," he replied immediately.
"Erik is a fine name, but it's a boy's name." Christine was handling it diplomatically; if we had a name for the child before she reached school age, I reckoned we'd be doing well.
"Why?"
"Well, because it means 'king', and kings are men."
That was enough of that; Masson slipped down, dragged Christine off the rug and announced, "I want breftiss." We listened to him thump downstairs and run into the kitchen hollering for Uncle Reza.
"That went well," I suggested.
"It did, actually," Christine smiled. I didn't feel it was the proper time to share my doubts; I'd reserve judgment awhile longer.
"And what sort of breftiss does my Angel prefer this morning?" I kissed Christine's forehead and nudged the wrapping aside to get a look at my daughter's amazing, feathery hair. In the light, it almost seemed reddish; how could that be?
She sighed, thinking. "I'm not very hungry, really, but I can see you're determined to force-feed me—"
"Correct."
"Coffee…hot cereal…and Erik?"
"Mm."
"Would you please stir some fig preserves into it?"
"Yecch," I grimaced.
"Don't make that face!"
"This is the face I was born with, Darling; I apologize."