Three In a Bed

by Carmen Reid

  Jesus, Bella had just never expected this amount of damage. She felt injured, war wounded and everyone was smiling and sending flowers and congratulating her as if she’d just won an award. Get well cards and sympathy would be slightly more appropriate. Maybe she should design a new range: ‘It’s a boy! Fifteen stitches, wow you must be feeling sore!’

  But she had her reward, didn’t she? Markie was sound asleep in his bed again, oblivious to the chat going on around him in the room.

  Tania was stroking his downy head and watching his chest rise and fall and Don was gazing at him too as he spooned noodles into his mouth.

  The baby was a magical presence, no doubt about it. They were all transfixed by this tiny being whose beautiful blue-veined eyelids were fluttering in sleep like butterfly wings.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  IT WAS CLOSE to 2 a.m. when Bella was ripped out of deep sleep by her baby’s ferocious wailing. She turned on the sidelight. Don had woken up too.

  She lifted her screaming son out of his crib and put him against her breast. He sucked like hell and it really, really hurt. She gritted her teeth and watched his jaw moving up and down. ‘Oh God—’ she turned to Don. ‘This is so painful. I don’t think I can let him drink much more.’

  Her bleary-eyed husband mumbled something sympathetic.

  Bella put her finger down to Markie’s mouth to break the suction and took him off. He burst into desperate screams again. Quickly she put him back on her other breast. She watched the little face working up and down and tried not to think about the horrible rubbed raw pain coming from her nipples.

  After about three minutes, she swapped sides again, then several minutes later she swapped back. She couldn’t take it any more. Surely, he must have had enough by now. She broke him off again and was horrified to hear his anguished cries.

  She rocked him a little bit, then put him back in his crib. Maybe he was just tired and needed to go back to sleep now.

  He screamed furiously at her down there and balled up his little fists. Maybe he needed a new nappy. She picked him up and stumbled through to the bathroom with him, she undid the rompers and opened the tiny nappy while the pink legs kicked against her and Markie screamed so hard that his jaw was trembling.

  In the nappy was a small solid black mess. Bella filled with relief. OK, as soon as this was changed he’d settle down and feel much better.

  She fumbled her way through the nappy change and headed back to the bedroom. Don was already half asleep. Bella put Markie into the crib and he screamed even harder. She patted him and spoke gently to him, but he was inconsolable.

  ‘I don’t know what it is,’ Bella turned to Don.

  ‘Turn out the lights, I’m sure he’ll settle down,’ Don mumbled.

  In darkness they lay listening to the anguished crying. Bella felt so tired she could barely move and yet the crying pierced her to the core and it was impossible to just lie there and listen to it.

  She leaned over and scooped Markie out of his crib again. She rocked him in her arms – no change – she hauled herself out of bed and began to hobble painfully round the room holding Markie up against her shoulder and patting his back.

  An age later, he finally stopped crying against her shoulder. She leaned over the crib to put him down and the wailing started up again.

  ‘Oh no!’ she cried in desperation and sank onto the bed, ‘I can’t feed him again, it’s too sore,’ she wailed. ‘And I’ve got to get some sleep!’

  Don dragged himself out: ‘Let me have a go.’

  He picked up the screaming baby and walked round the bed with him, then he started singing something indecipherable and astonishingly tuneless. Bella watched the digital minutes stack up on the bedside clock. It took sixteen minutes, until 3.08 a.m. before Markie was asleep again.

  Don eased him into the crib, then collapsed back onto the bed. Less than three hours later, they were woken again by the wail of a hungry baby.

  After four more nights like this, Bella began to wonder how she was going to survive. She felt dizzy and ill with tiredness. Her head was pounding and more than anything else in the world she wanted to sleep, but she felt so desperately needed by this tiny, helpless baby. Her nipples hurt excruciatingly as Markie drank and she was balancing him awkwardly against her as she couldn’t even sit up properly because her stitches and piles were so painful.

  Don had fallen straight back to sleep beside her and it was impossible not to fill up with rage. Bastard, she thought, how dare he not have to stay awake and breastfeed? He could damn well wind and change the nappy and then change the outfit which usually got puked on just when the nappy changing was over.

  She looked into the little eyes which were wide open and fixed on her and at the furrowed brow and tiny, perfect fingernails and she knew she was completely, helplessly, hopelessly in love. Markie was making her life utter, utter hell but she loved him, adored him, felt totally captivated by him.

  Oh great, she thought. Just the kind of dependent relationship I’ve been trying to avoid for ten years and here I am desperate to please a needy, greedy, ungrateful little man.

  She stroked his cheek: ‘You are,’ she said gently, ‘a needy, greedy, ungrateful little man.’ The baby sucked contentedly.

  She took Don’s advice and went back to bed in the middle of the morning once Markie had been fed again and gone back to sleep. As she walked up the stairs, she had to face the fact that finally she was going to have to go to the loo, and not just for a pee.

  Christ. What if the stitches ripped? Or everything tore? Or she passed out with the pain? She was going to have to be brave and find out what the score was.

  She sat herself down on the toilet seat and waited. She was hit with an absolutely searing pain but within seconds it was over. Hardly childbirth then, she thought to herself. She wiped and was surprised to find the toilet paper covered in bright red blood. She looked into the bowl and the white porcelain sides were splattered with blood droplets. Oh God. Gingerly she felt down. Stitches all seemed to be in place. Anus was ringed with a bleeding spongy mass. God, there must be something she could do about this. The technological advantages of living in the twenty-first century had to include not having to put up with horrendous post-partum piles.

  She went into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. She felt as if she had only just fallen into a jumbled sleep when Don was at her bedside holding a red, screaming Markie.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Bella asked, shaken out of exhaustion by anxiety about her baby.

  ‘He’s just hungry. He’s been awake for about forty-five minutes, but I’ve been carrying him around, trying to distract him so you could sleep for longer.’

  ‘Thanks, Don.’ She glanced up at him. His eyes were ringed too and he was sprouting a healthy coat of stubble. ‘Why don’t you go for a shower while I feed him?’ she said.

  ‘OK. Then I’ll make some lunch, shall I?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’

  She didn’t look up again, he noticed. Her eyes were fixed on Markie as she lifted her T-shirt and placed her nipple in the ravenous mouth.

  Don was ashamed to feel a wave of jealousy pass over him. He was jealous that Markie had all Bella’s attention but also jealous that Bella was everything Markie needed. He felt left out of the intimate circle of two. It was also strangely arousing to see his son’s tiny lips suck at the large rosy pink nipples. Bella looked beautiful. Buxom and blossoming and just perfect. How was he ever going to last another . . . five and a half weeks without sex?’

  ‘Oh God,’ he groaned.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ She asked while the baby suckled on, unperturbed.

  ‘I’ve just remembered how long it is before we can have sex again.’

  She laughed now for what felt like the first time in days. ‘Forget it, Don! We are never having sex again! They’ve stapled me shut and even if they hadn’t, I am never, ever going through childbirth again. So I’ll need medical documents to prove your vasectom
y has been a complete success before letting you near.’

  They both laughed now and wondered how much of that was true.

  Don made lunch and later on, he made supper. He was a pretty domesticated man, but the household was deteriorating round them fast. The bedroom laundry basket was overflowing with tiny vests and babygros stained bright yellow with baby crap. How could something so small produce so much vivid waste product? he wondered, taking care to handle the clothes by the edges.

  The kitchen was grubby and cluttered with dirty dishes; everywhere needed to be hoovered.

  Don could hear Markie upstairs in the bathroom wailing all the way through his evening bath. That was bound to upset Bella. He suddenly felt exhausted and decided to nip out and finally get some newspapers in. The walk would clear his head.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  BELLA HAD HER laptop out and was trying to engage her brain just long enough to write her New York friend, Jenna, an e-mail.

  My dear darling Jen, My seventeen day old baby is finally asleep and I have just enough energy left to sprawl out on the sofa and type you a note. Thank you so much for the lovely outfit which arrived yesterday. It’s just gorgeous, perfect . . . thank you. Markie has worn it for about 20 seconds but now it’s back in the wash basket covered in projectile vomit. Ah the joys of motherhood!

  I’m sort of hanging in here – battered, bruised, a bit weepy and totally, totally beyond the limit of human endurance tired. I have never been so tired.

  I am going to hit the next person who tells me ‘don’t worry, the first six weeks are the worst’ because I’m thinking SIX WEEKS – I cannot survive another six DAYS of this!!

  Breastfeeding – lovely concept – hurts like hell, plus I look like a chunky, frumpy, brunette Dolly Parton. Only industrial size painkillers are getting me through the stitches, post-partum piles situation but, hey, I don’t want to put you off or anything . . . are you still brooding on the broody question?

  How is Ritchie doing? I hope you are considering a visit soon so I can inspect this man and you can come and worship at the shrine of Markie.

  Don is OK, despite me turning into the baggy shirted, slipper wearing harpy from hell who nearly screamed the house down when he suggested going off to Italy for a week to ‘work’ on some football tournament.

  Markie is of course adorable, adorable, just a million times lovelier than I could ever have imagined. But so much work, much worse than expected . . . I’m such an amateur it terrifies me – I can’t even steer the buggy properly. I feel a bit helpless and out of control and I’m very worried about how I’m going to make all this work. But I keep telling myself I’ll figure it out somehow . . . hopefully soon. Take care cupcake, love you, Bella xxx

  She hit send then closed up the computer and tried to fall asleep.

  By the afternoon, she felt strong enough to take Markie out for a walk when he was fed and ready for a sleep. She put him into a new nappy, sleepsuit and cardigan, then laid him down in the buggy. That had only taken about forty minutes – a new world record time.

  She dragged the buggy down the front door steps, cursing every single one of them. This had all been much easier when Don was around. But he was already back at work.

  It still felt strange to walk along the road pushing this great big thing along. The sun broke out from behind a cloud and Markie, dazzled, began to cry. She pulled up the hood and it only partially covered his face, so she moved him gently up the pram until he was in shade again, still crying. She spoke to him soothingly as they moved on down the road and finally he fell asleep and she felt herself relax a little.

  The nearest high street was shabby and run down with a grotty-looking shopping centre at one end, then a handful of chain stores, interspersed with kebab shops and taxi offices. Scabby market stalls selling cheap handbags and underwear were pitched up against the pavement.

  She went to Boots first where she headed for the aisle with nappies and all the other postnatal products.

  Wow, I’m an entirely separate consumer group, she couldn’t help noticing. Extra-large sanitary towels, cracked-nipple cream, nipple guards, haemorrhoid cream, she piled the lot into her basket. Add a packet of super-strength painkillers, a bottle of wine, and maybe she would get through the evening after all.

  As she paid at the till, Markie started to stir. By the time she got back outside, he was bawling miserably and she knew she had to feed him . . . where?? There was no bench or seat in sight and anyway, would she really be happy whipping up her top here? Plus there was the wind chill factor to consider. She headed for the baby shop at the far end of the street.

  Markie was red in the face and howling by the time she got there. She hurried through the shop straight for the tweely labelled ‘Mummy’s Room’ which had a bench, several changing mats, a sink, a grotty cartoon character frieze on the wall and an overpowering stench of dirty nappies. No wonder new mums got depression, this looked like the perfect venue for a postnatal suicide.

  She bent over the buggy to lift out her screaming son and as her fingers reached behind him, they slid into warm wetness. She lifted him up and he and the sheepskin-lined buggy were covered in slimy yellow crap.

  ‘Oh God,’ she cursed under her breath.

  She hadn’t brought anything with her: no wipes, no change of clothes, no cloths, it was another Amateur Mum moment.

  She put Markie down on one of the changing mats. He was waving his fists and bawling. No wonder, starving and covered in poo, not a good scene.

  Stay calm, she told herself. There was a drum of paper towel on the wall so she pulled off about six feet from the roll and bundled Markie up in it. That would do while she fed him; they would begin the damage limitation exercise afterwards.

  The staff were somewhat bemused to see a harassed and obviously brand new mother come out of the changing room holding a baby swaddled in yellow-stained paper towel.

  Bella scanned the shelves and got vests, babygros and a large box of wipes. She picked out a black duffle changing bag, paid for the lot at the till and went back into the Mummy’s Room for some time. When she came out again her baby was re-dressed and lying in his buggy on a wad of paper towel. The bulging duffle bag was slung over her shoulder.

  On the walk home she tried to laugh about it but she felt hopeless and weak. God, how useless was she? She couldn’t even take her baby round the block without turning it into a major crisis. She could feel tears welling up at the back of her eyes. This was just nothing like she’d imagined. All her baby daydreams had been about sitting in a sunny garden with a darling baby fast asleep in his pram. Instead the weather was cold and grey and he cried most of the time and she felt shattered and totally wound up.

  Her mobile trilled in her pocket.

  She clicked it open and was astonished to hear Kitty: Kitty asking her if she wanted the mail accumulating in the office to be sent to her or if she was coming in. It felt like greetings from another planet and served only to ignite her anxiety about the countdown on her time with her son.

  She had six more weeks of being with her gorgeous little boy 24 hours a day and then she had to hand him over and get back to work, or else she would lose her place and anyway they had a mountainous mortgage now which they could not pay without her salary.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  ‘HELLO?’ DON’S VOICE sounded irritable.

  ‘Don?’ Bella was in tears again and there were frantic screams in the background.

  ‘What’s the matter, hon?’ He tried to sound sympathetic.

  ‘He won’t stop crying,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t know what to do, I’ve fed him, I’ve changed him, maybe there’s something wrong with him.’

  ‘Have you winded him?’

  ‘Of course.’ She was beginning to sound angry now.

  ‘Maybe he’s just tired, Bella. I’m sure he’s fine.’

  ‘Tired?’ she shouted. ‘Of course he’s bloody tired, he’s been up since 6 a.m. and it’s now eleven but he’ll onl
y sleep with my nipple in his mouth. I can’t take any more of this. I need to tidy up, I need to have a bath, I need some sleep, I’m going to go insane.’ She was practically screaming now.

  ‘Bella,’ Don’s voice was angry too, ‘I’m at work, I can’t help you right now, calm down, go for a walk or something. I’ve got more important things to do than listen to this.’ Shit, he regretted the words as soon as he’d said them.

  All he could hear was his son’s inconsolable wailing then a venomous ‘Fuck you’ before Bella slammed the phone down. ‘Go for a walk’ – she was too exhausted to walk the length of the room. She threw herself down on the sofa and howled with her baby.

  Don sat at his desk wondering what to do. Was his wife bashing his son’s head against the wall right now? Should he phone her back? Should he phone social services? He decided to phone his mum.

  ‘I think it’s definitely time for you to come down and help, Mum, if you can,’ he said as soon as the fond hellos were over.

  ‘Don, I’d love to, I’ve been dying for you to ask, I didn’t want to impose.’

  He was already feeling much calmer at the sound of her voice.

  ‘How are you both getting on? I’ve been worrying about you.’

  ‘It’s absolute murder,’ he was surprised to hear himself say.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Maddie said sympathetically. ‘How’s Bella coping?’

  ‘Not very well right now,’ Don answered. That was putting it mildly.

  ‘Well, she’s been such an independent girl for so long now. It must be a shock to be at the beck and call of a baby.’

  ‘When can you come?’ he asked, thinking she’d probably missed the last flight out of Inverness today. But maybe he could get her on the first plane in the morning.

  ‘When do you want me?’