Baby Blue

by Julia Green

  Julia Green says:

  When I’d finished Blue moon, my first novel, Mia Was still vividly present in my mind. I knew there was much more to say about her, and of course the new baby.

  I Wanted to say something about being a mother: how hard it is, how important, how life changing, whatever age you are. And I wanted to show the magic, the miracle, that all babies are.

  The challenge for Mia is to love and look after her own baby, but not to give up on her own life. That’s one of the real challenges for all mothers, I think, balancing those two things. You have to have your own dreams, find your own wings.

  Julia Green lives in Bath with her partner and two children. She lectures part-time in English and creative writing, leads writing workshops for adults and young people, and works as a home-tutor for children who are not attending school.

  Books by Julia Green

  BABY BLUE

  BLUE MOON

  Julia Green

  baby

  Blue

  PUFFIN

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA), Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published 2004

  5

  Copyright © Julia Green, 2004

  Excerpt of ‘Poem to my Daughter’ © Anne Stevenson,

  The Collected Poems 1955–1995, Bloodaxe Books, 2000,

  has been reproduced by kind permission of the publisher.

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 9780141926780

  For my family

  The child,

  tiny and alone, creates the mother.

  from ‘Poem to my Daughter’

  by Anne Stevenson

  CHAPTER ONE

  White walls, white ceiling, white starched sheets, white blanket, like a cot blanket. Mia lies completely still, eyes open. Through the tall window she can see blue sky divided into nine neat squares – the fresh-rinsed blue of a sky after rain. It’s very early in the morning, she can tell even without looking at her watch. Which is where? Someone must have brought all her things up for her and put them in the bedside locker. She is marooned in this too-high bed, the sheet stretched taut across her aching body, the sides tucked in under the mattress so that she can hardly move. She can’t think how she got here.

  She shifts gingerly and feels the blood rushing into her imprisoned limbs; her numbed feet and hands prickle and throb back to life. Washed up, scoured out like a shell, that’s her. Empty. Bone-clean.

  It’s as if she’s just arrived at a completely new destination. The sole survivor of a terrible storm, newly washed up on an island shore.

  Her mouth is parched. She pushes herself up against the pile of pillows to reach the water jug and glass someone has left for her on the bedside cabinet. A spasm of pain zigzags down her stomach and into her thighs.

  Why have they put her in here, by herself?

  By herself.

  Her belly lurches.

  At the foot of the bed, there’s a plastic transparent crib like a fish tank. A white cot blanket.

  They’ve taken him away already, even though I said I didn’t want him to go to the nursery. ‘You need your sleep,’ they said, but I said, ‘No, I want him here with me all the time.’ They’ve waited for me to sleep and they’ve come and stolen him away because they think I can’t look after him. They don’t trust me. They want him for themselves, to coo over and fuss and say how beautiful he is, with his tuft of dark seaweed hair and his deep blue eyes and his starfish hands. He’s too good for me. Too sweet and perfect.

  The white blanket in the cot stirred; a tiny, crinkled arm pushed against it. Relief flooded through Mia. And terror. It was all up to her now. She swivelled round and eased herself down on to the floor, felt the cool lino on her bare feet, and steadied herself with one hand on the bed as she crept round to the crib. Her legs shook and her belly tightened with pain, an echo of the night’s effort. With her free hand she pulled the fish-tank crib round to the side of the bed so she could see properly inside.

  There he was! The shock, a second time, to see him! This utterly strange, yet utterly familiar little person with his own hair and eyes and ears and baby-bird mouth.

  ‘Hello, you,’ Mia whispered into the crib.

  She half wanted to scoop him up and nuzzle her face into his, snuffle his skin. Half didn’t dare.

  She’d slept, and he’d slept, for nearly five hours. It was all a miracle.

  Mia drifted in and out of sleep.

  Remembered.

  They called it labour, the work of the body getting ready for birth. At first the contractions of the womb had felt like elastic bands round her body, getting tighter and tighter and squeezing the breath out. Rings of pain, tightening and squeezing her belly. It was a bit like surfing, riding the waves of pain, seeing them coming, judging how to take them, knowing you could do it, only gradually getting more tired. Then the waves started getting bigger, and too close to each other, one and the next and the next relentlessly on and on, with the breaks getting smaller and no time to catch your breath before the next one hit and went over your head. That had been terrible, that bit. Everything dark and full of panic, a long descent like drowning, feeling as if you were being scraped over the stones at the bottom of the beach and finally left torn and bloody and sick with fear. But alive.

  She had thought she might die, but she hadn’t. And he hadn’t either. Feeling his body sort of slither and tumble out between her legs, too quick, while someone was still yelling at her not to push, to breathe. That was giving birth.

  Hot, and sweaty, and bloody, and animal. Mia shuddered now at the thought of her nakedness in front of strangers. She was so glad it had happened so fast, that no one from her family had been in the room. Most other women had husbands, or partners, of course. Imagine, having Will there. He’d have died of shock. Blood and gore in a film: that was a different matter. But not the real thing. He’d never have handled that.

  Dad’s face when he came in after it was all over. A boy! For once, he’d had no words. Tears were running down his cheeks. For once, for the first time ever, Mia felt she had done something to make him pleased with her. The gift of a boy-child.

  There was a light tap at the door. It opened; a young nurse smiled wearily at Mia.

  ‘You’re awake, then? I popped in earlier but you were sound asleep.’ She took Mia’s temperature, lightly placed two cool fingers on her pulse and watched the seconds tick round on the watch pinned to her pocket.

  ‘OK? Normal.
No infection. Good. Baby fed yet? Changed his nappy? Poo or wee?’

  Mia shook her head.

  ‘Call someone to help you do the first nappy. You brought some in? Yes?’

  Mia stared back, blank.

  ‘Why don’t you go and have a shower while you can? You can collect breakfast from the day room any time after seven.’

  The nurse walked over to the window and looked out across the car park. Mia watched her. How old was she? Twenty? A student nurse? Mia’s sister Laura was about the same age.

  A shower would be good. Her hair was matted with sweat and her skin felt like rubber. She was hungry, too. She’d thought someone would bring her a tray, or at least tea, while she was still in bed, not that she’d have to go and find it for herself. She couldn’t imagine walking as far as the day room. What should she do with the baby? Was it safe to leave him?

  The young nurse turned back towards Mia. ‘You’re lucky they put you in a single room. All the mothers and babies in the eight-bed rooms wake each other up all night. No one gets any sleep. That’s why they end up putting the babies in the nursery.’

  ‘What will happen if he wakes up while I’m in the shower?’

  The nurse laughed. ‘Oh, he’ll be all right. He’ll have to get used to it, won’t he? I’ll watch him for you if you like. I’m on till seven, then it’s the day shift.’

  Mia looked protectively towards her tiny sleeping son. But she needed a shower badly.

  The moment she opened the bathroom door after her shower she could hear the thin wail of a baby. Hers? The nurse was busy talking on the phone at the main desk. So much for looking after him! Mia stumbled along the corridor, tying the hospital dressing gown round her, back to her single room.

  His face was steamy red, his eyes squeezed shut in anguish and misery. Mia’s whole body went hot. She’d have to pick him up. His body felt stiff and awkward as she tried to scoop him out of the crib. His legs and arms jerked out as she unwrapped the blanket, his back arched away from her. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know I’m his mother – he can tell I’m scared.

  Mia bit her lip as she forced herself to wrap him back up and lift him close to her body. There was a wild moment of struggle as she tried to settle him close in against her, then suddenly the crying stopped and his mouth started to gape and rootle against her, searching for her breast. He screwed his face up in disappointment again as he found only the rough towelling dressing gown, opened his mouth to howl. Just in time Mia untied the cord and his mouth sensed skin, warm breast. It felt so weird, his whole mouth pulling fiercely at her nipple. It began to hurt, he wasn’t latched on properly, but she couldn’t bear to get him off and properly positioned again, and so she kept on biting her lip and let this new pain join the others in her body.

  ‘I thought I heard something.’ The tired nurse stood in the doorway.

  The baby’s head jerked away and he butted against Mia’s chest as he began to wail.

  ‘You want to hold his head for him, he can’t support it yet. With your hand. And get him properly latched on or you’ll get blisters and cracks in your nipples and then you’ll be putting him on the bottle before you know what you’re doing. Look, let me show you.’

  She pulled one of the pillows from behind Mia and placed it on her lap, to raise the baby up higher. Then she manoeuvred him into position.

  ‘There. You want to see that his whole mouth goes round like that. That’s on properly now. See? He’s getting something now. Colostrum, until your milk comes through properly. It’s full of goodness. Well done! You’ll be all right now. Got to go. Ring your buzzer if you want someone. Don’t forget about breakfast.’

  Tears prickled in Mia’s eyes. It was already too hard. He was only seven hours old. What on earth had made her feel she could do this by herself? The baby sucked contentedly while Mia sobbed into his hair.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘Mia? Wasn’t sure if you were awake. Didn’t want to disturb you two.’

  Dad hovered at the door, a huge bunch of white lilac held awkwardly in one hand.

  Mia tried to smile. ‘Flowers.’

  ‘From the garden. For you. And him. How’s he doing?’

  ‘OK. What’s the time?’

  ‘Twelve-ish.’

  Don’t wake up. Please. If he woke up he’d cry and then she’d have to feed him, and how could she possibly do that with her dad looking? Mia went hot and sweaty at the thought, and, as if on cue, the baby started to whimper.

  ‘Shall I pick him up for you?’ Dad leaped over enthusiastically to the crib and started clucking at the baby.

  ‘Leave him be, Dad. Wait.’

  He might just settle back to sleep. Please, Baby. Not now.

  The whimpering went up a level, from a sort of mewing to an open-mouthed wail.

  ‘Go on, then, pick him up.’ She watched him lean over the crib.

  ‘It’s OK, little fella.’

  The baby stopped crying to listen to the unfamiliar voice and in that second Dad had scooped him up. He cradled the tiny baby against his chest for a moment. His face had gone soft, smoothed out with tenderness.

  ‘Here you are, then. Here’s your mum.’

  Dad carefully laid the baby in Mia’s arms. Her face went red and hot again. The baby started to cry louder.

  ‘I’ll go and get a vase or something for the flowers while you sort him out.’ Dad closed the door gently, tactfully, behind him.

  Good. Mia let out a huge sigh. She lifted up her T-shirt and let the baby find her breast. It didn’t look like hers at all; it was swollen and lumpy-looking and criss-crossed with blue veins. Round the nipples the skin was all brown and peculiar. It was supposed to look like this, apparently. The leaflet the nurse had left for her on the table said it would get even worse when her milk came in. You were supposed to have something called a nursing bra in a mega-huge size to support your breasts, but she hadn’t got one. She’d rather die than wear the ones she and her friend Becky had looked at a few weeks ago.

  The baby wailed in despair for a second, his head frantically bobbing about until she held it for him and steered him towards her breast. His mouth opened up round her nipple and a sharp pain shot through her belly, but he was on now, starting to suck noisily. Greedy little pig.

  Once the baby was latched on properly, she could let her T-shirt flop back down and no one could really see anything.

  The nurses were pleased with her for having a go at breastfeeding. ‘Most girls your age don’t. But it’s so much better for the baby if you can. Better for you, too. Helps you bond.’

  It felt so weird. Hurry up, she willed him. Finish before Dad gets back.

  The baby seemed to know what she was thinking. He stopped sucking and let the nipple drop, and then he made a funny drizzling, miserable sound. He turned his face away when she tried to help him back on. His body went stiff in her hands. Just as the door opened he started to bawl.

  Dad followed meekly behind a nurse who bore the vase of garden flowers before her like a bridal bouquet. She set them on the windowsill.

  ‘Aren’t they lovely? Such a beautiful scent! And from your garden! Lucky you!’ She smiled too generously at Dad, who simpered back.

  Typical, Mia thought. Even in here he’s at it.

  ‘Now what’s all that noise about?’ The nurse looked accusingly at Mia. ‘Have you winded him after feeding?’ She took the baby from her without even asking and put him over her shoulder, patting his back as she walked around the tiny room with him.

  Mia had seen people do that with babies, to make them burp up wind. But she was sure the nurse was patting him much too hard: his little face was peeping at Mia over her starched shoulder, wide-eyed and terrified. He was so very small. So crumpled and defeated-looking.

  Why can’t they all go away and leave us alone?

  ‘How are you, love? Can I get you anything?’

  Dad’s gentle voice was enough to push Mia over the edge. She started to cry, couldn’t seem to st
op. Embarrassed, he shuffled through his pocket for a tissue, but of course there wasn’t one. Balancing the baby with one hand, with the other Super Nurse passed him a box of tissues from the trolley and smiled at him.

  ‘Touch of the baby blues. Perfectly normal, it’s just her hormones,’ she explained in her patronizing voice.

  Dad smiled back weakly and patted Mia’s back as if she’d got wind, too.

  The baby had gone quiet. The nurse laid him back in the crib. ‘There you are. He’s fine now. Must get on.’

  Mia and Dad listened to the efficient squeak of her shoes as she disappeared back along the corridor. He looked at Mia and shrugged.

  ‘Dreadful woman! Poor you. Hope they’re not all like that. You all right now?’

  Mia nodded, sniffed.

  ‘Shall I bring you some food when I come back later? What would you like? I know your mother was always hungry after having a baby, and hospital food isn’t up to much.’

  ‘Tuna fish sandwiches. Crisps. Bananas.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Disposable nappies. I was supposed to bring some in with me.’

  He grinned. ‘Better than when you were born. We used those terry-towelling nappies in the hospital. Always worrying about the pin!’

  Dad wandered round the small room, picking up the chart at the foot of the bed to look at it, fiddling with the pots of cream on the trolley. ‘I can’t stay long. You have a bit of a rest, yes? Before the other visitors arrive. Becky wants to come after school this afternoon, and your mother’s driving from Bristol this evening, probably. We managed to phone Kate in Greece; she sends her love. Says it’s funny to think she’s an auntie. I know what she means. Can’t believe I’m a grandfather!’

  And Mia a mother. At sixteen. Neither of them said it, but the thought hovered in the air anyway.

  ‘It’s nice they’ve put you here, in a single room. More private. Though it’s a bit lonely… Still, it’s not for long. A couple of days, the nurse said. Till you’ve got the feeding sorted…’ His voice trailed off. ‘I’ll let you sleep, shall I? See you later, then, love.’