They've gotten good at taking shifts, so when Plourr gets up this time Rial grins vaguely into the pillow and falls straight back asleep.
When, some time later, he wakes up to snuffling cries and Plourr's voice, hoarse and tired, he contemplates getting up to check if he can do anything. The contemplation takes a while, and when, at the end of that she still hasn't shushed, he slowly begins the process of prying himself out of bed.
Meanwhile, Ianna hiccups, considers quieting, and then turns up the volume again, waving tiny fists.
The warm weight in Plourr's arms has never stopped feeling strange. She wonders if it ever will. She carries Ianna correctly, holds her by the book -- and she holds her as if she could break at any moment. She's at a pretty good size (especially for a kid who's only 17 days old), which Plourr can personally attest to, but she still looks tiny in Plourr's big arms
( ... )
"Hey." Rial's finally pulled himself out of bed, and is leaning against the doorframe, watching the two. A lot of nights seem to end up like this, one or the other or both of them pacing and trying to calm Ianna down long enough for her to drift off to sleep. Unfortunately, she seems to have been born without that particular need, and it's way harder then it sounds.
As she turns back toward Rial and the door in the darkened nursery, she repeats, "No" less sharply, in an unspoken acknowledgment that she spoke too harshly.
"I have to be able to do this," she says, moving constantly on silent bare feet as the thin wails continue from her shoulder. "You can't always bail me out."
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When, some time later, he wakes up to snuffling cries and Plourr's voice, hoarse and tired, he contemplates getting up to check if he can do anything. The contemplation takes a while, and when, at the end of that she still hasn't shushed, he slowly begins the process of prying himself out of bed.
Meanwhile, Ianna hiccups, considers quieting, and then turns up the volume again, waving tiny fists.
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"You want me to try?"
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As she turns back toward Rial and the door in the darkened nursery, she repeats, "No" less sharply, in an unspoken acknowledgment that she spoke too harshly.
"I have to be able to do this," she says, moving constantly on silent bare feet as the thin wails continue from her shoulder. "You can't always bail me out."
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