After days of the whiteness, unnatural cleanliness, sharp Dettol smell and bland food of the hospital, we are finally allowed to take her home. Our new baby. Annabelle Roselia Murphy. It's taken ages to think of that name, but it's the most perfect, angelic name for the perfect angel child.
Or perhaps...Not so angelic.
I smile awkwardly at the old man glaring at me through the window in the room, shifting the precious bundle I'm holding in my arms. He's clearly not amused by the loud screeches and wails that fill the air coming from Annabelle's mouth. Actually, I probably wouldn't find it too funny, either. I mean, it is a hospital...and I really shouldn't have woken this old guy from his nap...I grimace when I notice the eyebags under his eyes. He probably hasn't been sleeping too well lately, so naturally, being the klutz I am, I had to go and wake him up. Smooth, Georgie, really smooth.
A protective arm encircles my shoulders as Connor nods apologetically in the old man's direction, guiding me towards the exit of the hospital. All while Annabelle's screaming her little head off. I wince as she utters a particularly ear-piercing shriek. This is really not going well.
"Shhhhh, Anna," I whisper, frantically trying to quieten my newborn child. For Pete's sake, she's been screaming for the past twenty minutes! And in an enclosed space like the car--well, let's just say that Connor and I are a little more deaf than we had been a few hours earlier.
"Honestly, what's wrong with her, Connor?" I yell despairingly over the noise. "It's not like she hasn't been fed! I just fed her!" Connor looks pretty stressed out, too. There's distress on every inch of his handsome features--even his nose, if that's even possible.
"Well, check her diapers or something! Geez, how am I supposed to drive with this din going on?" Connor calls back. His voice softens, filling with concern, worry flooding his chocolate-brown eyes. "D'you think she's sick or something?" At these words, anxiety grips my heart like a vice. Surely she isn't--she can't--be ill, can she? Not when she's just been born? I don't think she's been in this world for long enough to get a virus, but I'm still new to this parent thing, so how on Earth do I know for sure? Oh, god, this little baby is hardly five days old, and she's already causing more trouble than that beehive we'd found in our garden a few months back! "Oh, she'll be fine," I respond confidently, probably more confidently than I feel. My stomach's still churning from the possibility that my darling baby is sick. Connor shoots me his signature don't-lie-I-know-you're-not-good-at-lying-and-you-know-it-but-I'm-just-going-to-sit-here-and-humour-you look, then sighs, shaking his head. His eyes shine, half with amusement and half with worry. "Whatever you say, Georgie."
"Georgie? Georgie! Can't you quieten Annabelle?" A frustruated roar sounds from the next room as I stand, desperately rocking my child in my arms, trying to make her stop her horrible screeching. So far, I've tried everything--pacing around with her in my arms, offering her milk, playing music--nothing's worked so far. Well, obviously. I mean, if anything's worked, do you think I'd still be holding a wailing Annabelle in my arms? She'd been fine in the hospital, lying in her cot and sleeping! Gently, I put her down in her cot, then race out of the room to yell back to Connor. "I can't do anything! I've tried everything--" My voice falters as I slowly realise that I can actually hear myself shouting, which can only mean one thing... Annabelle has stopped her own screaming. Impossible. Maybe she's been suffocated by a pillow! The thought fills me with dread and I sprint back into the room, my heart pounding against my ribcage and the hairs standing up on the back of my neck.
But...there she is, lying in her cot, her big brown eyes closed and her rosebud mouth shut in a slight smile. The telltale rise and fall of her chest tells me that she's definitely still breathing, and anyway, there isn't a single pillow near her. Thank god. Suddenly, it dawns on me.
"Connor!" I walk into the study room, my cheeks aching from the gigantic grin I can't get off my face. "She was just tired, and couldn't get comfy in my arms. She's more comfortable in the cot!"
DIsclaimer: I do not own any of the characters (except maybe the baby). Only this short one-shot is by me.
© by ginnamassa. All rights reserved
