by Sosie Frost
The baby didn’t agree, giving an unimpressed hmph.
“So…” I buzzed my lips. “What sort of baby are you?”
I shifted the bundled blankets and revealed his—her?—curled fist.
“Well…you have a pretty pink hat,” I said. “I suppose that’s code. Except…” I tugged on the powder blue onesie, emblazoned with Ironfield Regional Hospital over the front. “You’re throwing some mixed signals.”
I supposed it was okay to find out for myself. Plus, it was prudent to reverse engineer the diaper situation before it was up to me to strap one on. After all…it was my baby. I’d be diapering a lot. And feeding. Clothing. Comforting. Raising.
That was a lot of responsibilities to heap on someone who still wore a hospital gown and someone else’s underwear.
I continued my fact-finding mission. Was this surprise kid of mine a boy or a girl? I unsnapped the onesie and tugged the diaper down.
“Oh.” Break out the cigars. “A little girl. I guess that makes sense.” I pointed to the speckled pink paint on my arms. “I must have been decorating your nursery.”
The kid made a face and grunted, truly impressed with my detective work.
But the kick was unnecessary. And the punch. And the little pinched face heralding a distraught cry at my presumption to disrobe her. I wrapped her back in the blanket, but I think I did it wrong.
Her mouth opened. Fists curled. Tongue flexed.
And the scream wailed over the room.
Great.
“Please…don’t.” I patted her tummy. I thought babies liked that? Or was that puppies? “There…there. No crying. We’re in this together. You cry, and then I’ll start crying, and one of us has more head trauma and hormones raging than the other. You’ve gotta keep a level head.”
Most children gave it eighteen years before they split. This one was done after eighteen seconds.
“It’s okay. I promise.” I cringed as her cry sharpened into a judgmental wail before hic-uping its way into a round of sobs that ached everywhere in me. “I’m sorry. I’m normally better equipped for these things. I think.”
I folded the blanket over her legs. Nothing. I tucked it. She cried harder.
What was I doing wrong? Did she want to be picked up? Fed?
Or did she just now realize that the highlight of her life was popping into the world via the bumper of an ice cream truck?
The door opened, and a middle-aged nurse fluttered into the room. She whip-cracked her stethoscope over her shoulder and tutted at me, a smile on her face.
“Would you listen to the commotion in here!”
I raised my voice over the screaming baby. “Introductions didn’t go so well.”
“Don’t you worry. She’s just exercising those lungs.”
The baby’s face wrinkled with rage and absolute misery.
I sighed.
“She’s got a healthy pair in her.”
The nurse smirked. “Yes, indeedy. Must come from good stock, right Momma?”
How would I know? “We’ve been issued a five-star test crash rating.”
She laughed. “Well, you’re looking much better. And I’m glad you’re finally getting to bond with baby. Looks like she got out of her swaddle. You might want to bundle her up while we do this paperwork.”
“Windsor or square knot?”
“Can knock the sense out of you, but not the humor. Here. Let me show you.”
I flinched as the nurse hauled the baby into her arms at catapult speed. At least if she had lost her grip, the kid would have launched straight to the ER. I resisted the urge to leap up and play catcher. The nurse didn’t notice—like she trebucheted kids all day. She balanced her on one arm and folded the blanket into a diamond shape.
“So what is this little cutie’s name?” she asked.
Good question. “I’m not sure. Ask her if she knows mine.”
She gestured to the baby and blanket. “You square her shoulders with the blanket here, then tuck this edge across with her little arm, and you pull this bottom bit up—” The nurse made a shushing sound that effectively silenced both me and the infant. “And you wrap the other bit around her like this. And…here you go.”
She handed her to me, straight-jacketed in the white blanket. But the baby-bondage worked. The newborn gave me a yawn instead of a scream.
Progress.
The nurse checked a chart. “So you haven’t picked a name for her yet?”
I ignored the itch on my nose to ensure I kept both hands firmly on the baby. “Well, we haven’t had time to discuss it yet. She’s thinking something unisex, but I was leaning toward a classic.”
“I understand. We’ll come back to her.” The nurse tapped her paperwork. “We have other documentation to go through…as best we can. This is a special case…so let’s put Evie down for a name.”
I perked up. “Oh. Evie. That’s a cute name.”
“The ice cream truck found you on Evie Street.”
“That’s perfect. She looks like an Evie.”
“No, Momma. We’ve been calling you Evie. Jane ‘Evie’ Doe. It felt more personal.”
“Oh.”
“So we have your name listed for the birth certificate, but we’ll need to name the baby before you leave the hospital.”
“Shouldn’t I get my memory back before I leave the hospital?”
“Well, we certainly hope so.”
That didn’t sound good.
“But this paperwork is very important,” she said. “We’ll fill out as much as we can now, in case you don’t recover your memory in time.”
I took a breath. The baby stopped fussing, her eyes blinking heavy as she rested in my arms. Poor thing. She had no idea what had happened since she was born. Then again, neither did I.
The kid was all cheeks. And eyes. Big, brown eyes. A full head of hair. Darker complexion, but…
I compared my arm to her cheek. While my skin looked like a cup of coffee, she seemed to get most of the creamer.
This was a question I never thought I’d ask. “Does this baby look black enough to you?”
The nurse laughed. She lowered the clipboard and took another peek. “I’ve worked in pediatrics for fifteen years. I’m no genetics expert, but I think you might have a little blending right here. Interracial. A white daddy maybe?”
“Well, there’s a clue.” I studied the bundle of evidence in my arms. “Except…”
I held the baby tight, quickly flashing my left hand to the nurse.
“I’m…not wearing a wedding ring.”
The nurse took a breath and bestowed a gift of optimism upon me. “Some women remove their rings when they’re pregnant. Their fingers tend to swell.”
Mine looked thin to me. Small even.
“Well, I’m sure my husband is out there looking for us right now. He’ll be sad he missed the birth, but, then again, so did I.”
“It’s never pretty, despite what they say.”
Who needed all that bonding time and empirical evidence anyway. A good surge of hormones could solve most problems.
“Well, we both seem healthy.” I hoped the kid didn’t mind me talking for her. “If not a little…upset.”
“Fussy.”
True. The kid wasn’t stoic, that was for sure. She squirmed, not trying to get away though. More like trying to dig through me.
“She must be hungry,” the nurse said. “Are you planning to continue breastfeeding?”
“Breast—breastfeeding?”
“Yes.”
“I…uh…I mean, we just met.”
“You might not remember. We had you with her before, poor thing. But your head was still in a tizzy. Of course, we recommend the breast but…”
The tone in her voice went beyond recommending.
Oh Lord. The thought of drinking milk out of the carton weirded me out. I hoped the kid didn’t have similar reservations.
“Yeah, sure. Let’s…flop them on out there, I guess.” I
bit my lip. “Should I…talk with her first, or is she gonna know the game?”
“Don’t worry. It’s all instinctual. It’s a bump on your head, not a problem with your boob. I’ll get the lactation consultant. Don’t get up. I’ll be right back.”
Move? I was holding a baby! Even if I wanted to get up, hop around, and do the post-partum polka, I didn’t trust myself to cough, let alone carry the kid. The nurse scurried from the room.
And the baby and I were left alone.
Maybe it was my imagination, but I think she was demanding some answers.
And I had no idea what to tell her.
“I feel like…I should know you.” My confession was the least of the kid’s concerns. “And you should probably know me…at least, the inside of me.”
I adjusted her and felt brave enough to settle against the bed, just enough to ease the strain in my shoulders.
“I’m sorry I don’t remember you.” I propped her up a bit to see the pink paint on my arms. My only clue to the past wasn’t as thrilled by my fledgling artistic talent. “But look. I was prepping a room for you. I was waiting for you.”
She didn’t understand, but I had to say it. The newborn didn’t deserve a life where her own mother was shocked to be holding her. I couldn’t think of anything more wretched than to feel unwanted.
And she was never going to feel that way, no matter how many head injuries or ice cream trucks got in my way.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered. “We’ll handle this together. You…be a baby. And I’ll…”
I could do this. I could handle it. I’d overcome it.
“I’ll be your momma.”
My words soothed her, and that was good because they sure as hell panicked me. I didn’t recognize my own voice. A stranger walked in my skin, and I just hoped they did a better job of living my life than I did in the moment leading up to the accident.
I couldn’t let it scare me. I had a baby to raise. Memories to regain.
A life-time supply of ice cream to sue out of a reckless driver.
Some people said the future was uncertain.
But now? It was all we had.
2
Baby furniture.
Not something an amateur should have assembled.
I had the instructions and loaded a how-to YouTube video, but I wasn’t feeling particularly lucky these days, even if the furniture, clothing, and apartment had all been donated for me.
I had the good sense to test out the baby swing with a teddy bear before plunking the kid into the seat. This wasn’t mother’s intuition. Just common sense after two bruises, a scrape, and a screw to the eye just taking the damn thing out of the box.
“It’s up to you now Teddy Von Fuzzybritches.” I clutched the stuffed animal close. “One small step for parenthood…one giant leap towards naptime.”
I lowered the plush martyr into the Fizzy Wizzy Puffy Glider—a contraption complete with magical merry mobile, programed with fifteen lullabies. The teddy bear didn’t complain, and the swing didn’t whine. So far so good. I stepped back and admired my achievement.
At least I retained a bit of coordination, dexterity, and handiness after the accident.
Or maybe all I had left was a grand sense of delusion.
The teddy bear snuggled into the swing’s egg-shaped seat. Not comfortably. The material stretched a little too taut.
Was it supposed to do that?
I had no idea. Those instructions seemed awfully blurry with only an hour and a half of sleep. Fortunately, my first afternoon outside of the hospital gave me one hell of a terror-induced adrenaline rush.
I was only alone with a newborn baby, depending on me for food, clothing, shelter, general newborn shenanigans, and furniture assembly even though I didn’t have a clue as to what I was supposed to do. How bad could it be?
Bad.
I must have installed the seat incorrectly. The cover pulled tight, and the entire basket strained under the pressure.
It creaked with a warning shudder, leaving me little time to seek cover with a pillow from the couch.
The contraption was a swing, but it wasn’t gliding like the advertised gentle, cloud-like hammock. It jerked, squealed, shuddered, and grinded. Not exactly restful, but Clue had bounced out of me after the truck accident. She was no stranger to a rough ride.
Moment of truth. I poised myself behind the couch and turned the swing on with the electronic keypad.
Mistake.
The rocker whined.
Groaned.
Then, with a chastising pop, the equipment exploded.
The seat snapped first—the buttons flinging away from the cushions like a pin ripping from a grenade. I hit the deck, cowering under couch cushions as the material cracked from the glider and sling-shotted Teddy Von Fuzzybritches across the room.
“Teddy, no!”
The bear rocketed to the ceiling, catching in the ceiling fan, and barraged—bearaged?—the light bulb. It shattered, tearing through Teddy’s arm as he got trapped within the fan’s blades. The fan’s motor hissed, and it hurtled Teddy deeper into the apartment. The bear spiraled into a vase of flowers sent by the hospital’s nurses. The vase crashed against the wall. Rose petals fluttered across the living room. The baby woke up, entirely inconvenienced.
Teddy tap-tap-tapped to a stop on the hardwood floor, his plastic nose clipping the boards.
The disrupted flowers scattered pollen over the apartment.
Clue sneezed. She disapproved of this newfound bodily function, sucked in a breath, and wailed. This too was interrupted by a sneeze. It surprised her, and I cautiously approached the stroller, glad I kept the cover up during my experiment.
“And that…” I gestured to the chaos, kicking Teddy’s ceiling-fan amputated arm under the coffee table. “Is why you will wear a seat belt while enjoying the Fuzzy Wuzzer Puffy Pretty…” I read the box. “Momma-rific Rocker. At least we won’t need a step-stool if we ever have to change a light bulb.”
Clue ceased her crying and curled her lips into a snarl. At first, I’d believed that particular expression was a declaration of my poor maternal instincts. Now that she was five days old, I realized that face was something else. She expressed her displeasure through her diaper.
Frown and furrowed brow—anger. Add a grunt, and she was pooping.
At least I knew this baby thing wouldn’t be that hard. As long as I had sufficient warning, I could handle most of what she tossed at me.
Until she learned to throw her diaper, of course. This apartment was too nice to turn into a zoo or college frat house, even if teddy bear stuffing floated in the air, glass sprinkled from the ceiling fan, and the pretty flower arrangement hacked into a layer of thorns on the carpet.
“This isn’t even our place, Clue.” I leaned over the stroller. “You can’t keep making messes.”
She gave me a fussy mumble that crossed wily disapproval with a timid burp.
“Fair enough. I won’t blame you this time. But I might need you to take the fall one of these days. You’re gonna have to help me out.”
I left Clue to do her business as I cleaned up the mess. Of course, that meant I had to find the cleaning supplies. At least I couldn’t complain about the ample space where my broom might have been hidden.
Clue was cute enough—or I was damaged enough—to afford us a bit of temporary charity while I recovered. The apartment was only part of the Rivets’ generosity. The beautiful, two-bedroom penthouse came with a working fireplace and sprawling balcony. It felt like a castle, and it was probably more than I deserved.
First, I was lucky to be alive. Now I was fortunate enough to earn the kindness of others. If I could just get my memories back, we’d be set.
Teddy had survived the slingshot save for a grotesquely severed arm which leaked stuffing. It was fixable. I didn’t know my name, but, for whatever reason, I could imagine a running-stitch.
Pieces of swing littered the living room floor. I atte
mpted to rebuild the oversized mouse trap, but I didn’t get a chance to reseat Teddy for a final test. The swing’s arm creaked and popped off the base. I leapt back as the seat collapsed onto the coffee table. The arm crashed over the side, dragging the glider with it.
Forget this.
“Clue, what do you think about sleeping in a box?” I kicked the glider’s pieces towards the box. “We can put blankets inside…or we can go full-rabbit hutch and layer it with saw dust.”
Clue whimpered.
I leaned over the stroller to soothe her. “Okay. I can bargain. Cedar chips.”
She gave a whine.
“We’ll pad it with newspaper,” I promised. “I’ll even get you a water bottle and one of those metal wheels that will let you crawl in place all you want.”
She still wasn’t impressed. And I knew why. She needed to be changed and snuggled. The ache in my chest was a not-so-subtle reminder that it was time to chubby her up.
I could do this. One of us had to be brave. But the nerves returned as I reached into the hand-me-down stroller and wrapped my hands around her.
No. This wasn’t a good angle.
She was too tiny, and I was too big, and I didn’t want to hurt the poor thing.
I stood and leaned a little closer. No. Her head didn’t seem like it’d get enough support that way.
Clue clucked. The little Houdini had a remarkable ability to escape her swaddle. The blanket kicked away, and the donated onesie had come unsnapped. The kid was a one-girl wrecking crew. And her own actions had pissed her off. All she needed was a cuddle.
And I was too terrified to lift my own child.
At this point, I didn’t care if I ever remembered my name or figured out where her daddy was. All I wanted was to regain just an ounce of instinct. A little confidence might have made this a lot easier.
I didn’t trust myself to lift her out. Screw it. I’d dismantle the damn stroller.
I pushed back the stroller’s screen and knelt on the floor beside the base. The front panel could swing open like a door. This way, I was on her level. I slid a hand under her butt and wrapped the other behind her head.
She tensed. I tensed.
“I swear, Clue.” I sighed. “I’ll get used to this.”
