A Baby Thing, 2/2
Part One | Part Two
Rose was horribly weak from the birth; he’d spoken with the midwife the day after, and had been gravely told that Rose had lost a terrible amount of blood, and that it had been a very near thing indeed. Rose grew stronger every day, and certainly seemed able to be up and about now that two weeks had passed, but he was still scheming ways to keep her on bed rest for a bit longer to ensure she recuperated fully. She’d demanded they allow her to walk on her own a few days earlier--had stubbornly insisted that she’d be quite fine for the naming ceremony if only they’d let her get up and moving.
Lucy had so far proven to be a quiet baby, whimpering when she was hungry but otherwise being remarkably calm. He’d spent hours holding her, gazing at her; memorizing every feature of her small face, staring awestruck as one of her small hands wrapped around his finger. Her lashes were long and dark, her eyes a deep blue that he fully expected would change to brown; and she was his. His and Rose’s.
The morning of the naming ceremony dawned fresh and clear, the grey clouds of the previous day having blown out to sea. Jackie and Pete met him downstairs, coffee at the ready and breakfast in the oven, and he’d never felt so grateful to them. He’d dozed intermittently every night since Lucy had been born, wanting to help Rose with their daughter by doing as much as he could. In his case, it meant serving as baby carrier from cradle to bed and back, burping their daughter after she’d been fed, changing her nappies--giving Rose as much time as possible to sleep while she recovered.
After brushing a kiss on his cheek in greeting, Jackie bustled upstairs to help Rose dress for the ceremony. Peter poured a very large, very black cup of coffee and settled at the table across from a rather amused-looking Pete.
“You’ll get used to it, soon enough,” the older man counselled sagely before returning his attention to the paper.
Peter devoured the food once it emerged from the oven, eventually dashing upstairs to finish getting dressed for one of the more important days of his life. Everything he’d done with Rose to this point-with the sole exception of Jackie’s wedding reception for them-had been done quietly, without pomp; he hoped the ceremony would follow in that vein. Pete had stated he’d have security guarding the perimeter, to keep prying media and the zanzare out and ensure only invited guests made it in, and so there was a fair hope that it would be as quiet as possible.
He’d known for many, many months what he’d wear this day, and he emerged from the guest room dressed in the finely tailored black suit he’d worn the night he first openly thought how much he loved Rose. The crisp white shirt was a newer purchase, and a deep crimson tie patterned with black finished the outfit. His shoes had been polished at some point, and he slid them on over his black socks as he checked his watch.
Time to go.
He moved down the hall and heard Jackie cooing over her granddaughter as he pushed the door open. His mother-in-law was holding Lucy, admiring the frilly confection the poor infant had been swaddled in; Pete swore it was a family heirloom, but Peter still wasn’t sure that was a good enough reason to make his poor daughter wear it.
Rose was standing next to Jackie, gazing at her mum with the mixture of love and exasperation he’d seen many times over their years together. He stopped breathing as he took in his wife, wearing a simple, comfortable dress which enhanced her hair and eyes. She turned to him with a grin and froze, the grin fading; they stared at each other, uninterrupted, for several moments as Jackie continued to play with her grandchild.
Rose walked over to him, slowly; she paused in front of him, a smile hiding in the corners of her mouth. “Breathe,” she whispered, leaning up to him; he leaned down and brushed a reverent kiss over her lips.
He still couldn’t believe his luck. His beautiful wife, whom he loved with all his heart; his beautiful daughter, whom he simply couldn’t believe existed. Some of his disbelief, his fear that this was a dream, must have appeared in his eyes: Rose whispered gently, “It’s real, Peter.”
He swallowed. “I know.”
Rose smiled, sliding her hand down to clasp his. “Are you ready, then?”
He smiled in return, nodding, and Rose led him out of the room and down the stairs, Jackie following with Lucy.
Thanks to the skill of Pete’s driver they arrived at the small town hall early. Guests were milling about outside the room which would be used for the ceremony, and Pete and Jackie waded in and mingled, drawing attention away from Peter and Rose and enabling them to quietly enter the magistrate’s office through a side door. They’d met with the magistrate several times in preparation for the day, and he welcomed them with a large smile as Peter quietly closed the door behind them.
“You’re ready, then?” the official asked, coming over and greeting Rose with a kiss and Peter with a handshake.
Rose looked down at Lucy, sleeping contentedly in her arms, and answered, “We are. Whether she is...well, we’ll just have to see.” She looked up at Peter, smiling, and he felt his heart skip at the picture she presented.
Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw the magistrate smile. “I have a few more things to take care of-I’ll come for you when things are ready.” The older man discreetly exited the room, leaving the small family alone together.
Peter reached out, eager to hold his daughter; Rose handed her over with a laugh. “You’ll spoil her, you know.”
He met her eyes with a smile. “And what’s so wrong with that?”
“So it’s ok to spoil little girls as well as little boys, then?” She grinned, her tongue lurking at the corner of her mouth.
He leaned forward, getting as close as he dared without suffocating Lucy. “Both.”
Rose’s smile faded, her look intensifying. “Maybe we’ll have to see about finding out firsthand, at some point.”
Cradling Lucy in one arm, he brought a hand up to lightly stroke his wife’s cheek. “I’d like to certainly try. But...” His memories of the delivery resurfaced, fear clutching his stomach. He didn’t want to risk losing Rose again.
“We can try, Peter.” She was grinning again, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and he leaned forward and kissed her.
Lucy began to shift, waking from her nap, and he pulled back with some reluctance. “Our days of carefree snogging and shagging have come to an end,” he said with mock regret.
“The world will never be the same,” Rose said wryly, reaching out to take Lucy from him. There was a rocking chair in the corner of the handsomely appointed room, set up for nursing mothers to use before a ceremony; Rose walked over, sat, and set to feeding Lucy.
Peter couldn’t get enough of the sight of his wife holding his daughter. He noticed Rose always relaxed immediately as Lucy nursed, and he felt a small pang of regret that he’d never have that kind of bond with his daughter. Rose felt his eyes on her and looked up at him, a gentle smile on her lips. She looked so happy.
He walked over to her, pulled a chair alongside. As their daughter had her fill, he quietly told Rose of how happy he was, how happy she had made him-what she meant to him. Rose’s gaze was full of love as she listened, as she in turn told him just how much she loved him, what he had done for her. It was perhaps the single most perfect moment of his life, he reflected, as they ended by gazing at each other in silence.
Lucy squalled, and he leaned in for a quick kiss before Rose shifted their daughter. He found a small cloth in the bag full of baby things which now accompanied them everywhere; he deftly draped it over Rose’s shoulder as she brought Lucy up for a burping. Rose gave him a grateful smile, and he smiled softly in response.
Lucy was going to need a change before they took her out for her christening, and he had the nappy and other supplies ready when Rose walked over. He had been surprised at how quickly he’d picked up the art of nappy-changing, spurred by rapid practice and-in the middle of the night-a desire to return to his wife in their bed. Rose had decreed him to be the best nappy-changer in the universe one night, when he’d had their daughter clean and changed in roughly a minute, and he’d not had the heart to tell her he had only wanted to get back to bed.
The magistrate reappeared through the doorway several minutes later, letting them know that it was almost time for the ceremony. Lucy was back to sleeping peacefully, resting in his arms, and he held out hope that they might have timed things right. Rose moved to him, leaned up for a kiss; he leaned down, happy to oblige, and felt his breath catch as she whispered, “Tha gaol agam ort” against his lips.
“Tha gaol agam ort-fhèin,” he replied, straightening. The magistrate looked to both of them, saw they were ready, and opened the door.
As with his wedding day, the naming ceremony passed in a bit of a blur. He knew the room was crammed full of people-some he knew from work, some he knew as friends, but many he’d never met at all. Pete had encouraged him to hire a photographer, warning he’d not remember a thing otherwise; as usual, his father-in-law had been right. Peter remembered very little at all from the ceremony itself besides sensations and snapshots of memory. There was a small stand off to the side, and it was here that he and Rose stood, announcing the name they’d chosen for their daughter, pledging to love and cherish her, to raise her to be a good person; he and Rose had discussed what to say at length, and yet he forgot the words as soon as they were done reciting their pledge. He instead continued to stare down at his daughter, sleeping soundly in his arms, oblivious to anything but her warmth, and the presence of her mother next to him.
The pictures, when he looked at them a day later, showed a happy family. There were dozens of pictures of both he and Rose looking down, lovingly, at the baby cradled in his arms; there were nearly as many of him looking at Rose, ready to burst with love. And there were many, many pictures of Rose gazing at him as he looked at her, or as he looked at Lucy, a lovingly contented expression on her face in some, a glowing smile of happiness in others. He couldn’t believe this was his life, his family.
The reception afterwards seemed interminable, the inevitable mingling with strangers who wanted to offer their congratulations as though they were old friends. He knew several of the invitees were tied in with Vitex, and for Rose’s sake he did his best to be sociable; even five years on, it was a constant struggle to rein in the urge to deliver scathing comments when at Vitex functions, ensuring he could actually speak at them instead of biting his tongue the entire time.
Mickey, Jake, and James were there, as were Penington and his small family; Elias and his wife were also there, offering congratulations and trying not to laugh as Peter continued to be forced into conversation with people he didn’t know. He was pleased to see Annie had made it, as well, bringing her husband with her, and he happily withstood Annie’s teasing at seeing him so fully domesticated.
The familiar faces had all been invited back to the house for a more informal gathering, and he looked forward to being in the comfortable surroundings with his true friends.
Rose was with him for all of it, doing her best to deflect most of the conversation to herself, and he continued to hold Lucy as though she might protect him from the interlopers. She eventually pulled through, waking with a whimper, wanting food. He could have stayed outside, mingling some more while Rose fed her, but it was the perfect excuse to go hide.
In spite of Lucy’s demands, Rose kissed him, fervently, when they were safely back in the peace of the anteroom. “Thank you, Peter,” she whispered as she pulled back. Lucy continued to writhe in his arms, her protests growing louder, and Rose took their daughter from him.
“For what?” he asked, bewildered.
Rose looked up at him, her eyes dark. “For being you.”
He wanted to shower her with kisses, to press her against the wall and make love to her in that room; he settled for smiling in wonder before leaning down for a quick kiss. “You’re welcome, then.”
Rose was rocking Lucy back to sleep, her little belly happily full, when Jackie and Pete joined them. “The party’s slowly breaking up-it should be safe to leave sometime soon,” Pete said with a twinkle in his eye.
Peter tried to hide his sigh of relief, and failed miserably. Jackie patted him consolingly on the shoulder. “You’ve done your duty by us, Peter-you should be good at least until Rose’s birthday.” She laughed at his look of horror, and relented. “Thank you, Peter.”
He blushed, looking at his daughter as he mumbled out “You’re welcome.” He extended his forefinger, watched as Lucy slowly wrapped her tiny hand around it; he was startled by the click of a camera.
He turned and saw Jackie beaming at him. He smiled in response, and went back to contentedly staring at his wife and daughter.
Of all of the pictures from that day, it was the one that Jackie took which graced his desk for the rest of his career.
Rose was horribly weak from the birth; he’d spoken with the midwife the day after, and had been gravely told that Rose had lost a terrible amount of blood, and that it had been a very near thing indeed. Rose grew stronger every day, and certainly seemed able to be up and about now that two weeks had passed, but he was still scheming ways to keep her on bed rest for a bit longer to ensure she recuperated fully. She’d demanded they allow her to walk on her own a few days earlier--had stubbornly insisted that she’d be quite fine for the naming ceremony if only they’d let her get up and moving.
Lucy had so far proven to be a quiet baby, whimpering when she was hungry but otherwise being remarkably calm. He’d spent hours holding her, gazing at her; memorizing every feature of her small face, staring awestruck as one of her small hands wrapped around his finger. Her lashes were long and dark, her eyes a deep blue that he fully expected would change to brown; and she was his. His and Rose’s.
The morning of the naming ceremony dawned fresh and clear, the grey clouds of the previous day having blown out to sea. Jackie and Pete met him downstairs, coffee at the ready and breakfast in the oven, and he’d never felt so grateful to them. He’d dozed intermittently every night since Lucy had been born, wanting to help Rose with their daughter by doing as much as he could. In his case, it meant serving as baby carrier from cradle to bed and back, burping their daughter after she’d been fed, changing her nappies--giving Rose as much time as possible to sleep while she recovered.
After brushing a kiss on his cheek in greeting, Jackie bustled upstairs to help Rose dress for the ceremony. Peter poured a very large, very black cup of coffee and settled at the table across from a rather amused-looking Pete.
“You’ll get used to it, soon enough,” the older man counselled sagely before returning his attention to the paper.
Peter devoured the food once it emerged from the oven, eventually dashing upstairs to finish getting dressed for one of the more important days of his life. Everything he’d done with Rose to this point-with the sole exception of Jackie’s wedding reception for them-had been done quietly, without pomp; he hoped the ceremony would follow in that vein. Pete had stated he’d have security guarding the perimeter, to keep prying media and the zanzare out and ensure only invited guests made it in, and so there was a fair hope that it would be as quiet as possible.
He’d known for many, many months what he’d wear this day, and he emerged from the guest room dressed in the finely tailored black suit he’d worn the night he first openly thought how much he loved Rose. The crisp white shirt was a newer purchase, and a deep crimson tie patterned with black finished the outfit. His shoes had been polished at some point, and he slid them on over his black socks as he checked his watch.
Time to go.
He moved down the hall and heard Jackie cooing over her granddaughter as he pushed the door open. His mother-in-law was holding Lucy, admiring the frilly confection the poor infant had been swaddled in; Pete swore it was a family heirloom, but Peter still wasn’t sure that was a good enough reason to make his poor daughter wear it.
Rose was standing next to Jackie, gazing at her mum with the mixture of love and exasperation he’d seen many times over their years together. He stopped breathing as he took in his wife, wearing a simple, comfortable dress which enhanced her hair and eyes. She turned to him with a grin and froze, the grin fading; they stared at each other, uninterrupted, for several moments as Jackie continued to play with her grandchild.
Rose walked over to him, slowly; she paused in front of him, a smile hiding in the corners of her mouth. “Breathe,” she whispered, leaning up to him; he leaned down and brushed a reverent kiss over her lips.
He still couldn’t believe his luck. His beautiful wife, whom he loved with all his heart; his beautiful daughter, whom he simply couldn’t believe existed. Some of his disbelief, his fear that this was a dream, must have appeared in his eyes: Rose whispered gently, “It’s real, Peter.”
He swallowed. “I know.”
Rose smiled, sliding her hand down to clasp his. “Are you ready, then?”
He smiled in return, nodding, and Rose led him out of the room and down the stairs, Jackie following with Lucy.
Thanks to the skill of Pete’s driver they arrived at the small town hall early. Guests were milling about outside the room which would be used for the ceremony, and Pete and Jackie waded in and mingled, drawing attention away from Peter and Rose and enabling them to quietly enter the magistrate’s office through a side door. They’d met with the magistrate several times in preparation for the day, and he welcomed them with a large smile as Peter quietly closed the door behind them.
“You’re ready, then?” the official asked, coming over and greeting Rose with a kiss and Peter with a handshake.
Rose looked down at Lucy, sleeping contentedly in her arms, and answered, “We are. Whether she is...well, we’ll just have to see.” She looked up at Peter, smiling, and he felt his heart skip at the picture she presented.
Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw the magistrate smile. “I have a few more things to take care of-I’ll come for you when things are ready.” The older man discreetly exited the room, leaving the small family alone together.
Peter reached out, eager to hold his daughter; Rose handed her over with a laugh. “You’ll spoil her, you know.”
He met her eyes with a smile. “And what’s so wrong with that?”
“So it’s ok to spoil little girls as well as little boys, then?” She grinned, her tongue lurking at the corner of her mouth.
He leaned forward, getting as close as he dared without suffocating Lucy. “Both.”
Rose’s smile faded, her look intensifying. “Maybe we’ll have to see about finding out firsthand, at some point.”
Cradling Lucy in one arm, he brought a hand up to lightly stroke his wife’s cheek. “I’d like to certainly try. But...” His memories of the delivery resurfaced, fear clutching his stomach. He didn’t want to risk losing Rose again.
“We can try, Peter.” She was grinning again, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and he leaned forward and kissed her.
Lucy began to shift, waking from her nap, and he pulled back with some reluctance. “Our days of carefree snogging and shagging have come to an end,” he said with mock regret.
“The world will never be the same,” Rose said wryly, reaching out to take Lucy from him. There was a rocking chair in the corner of the handsomely appointed room, set up for nursing mothers to use before a ceremony; Rose walked over, sat, and set to feeding Lucy.
Peter couldn’t get enough of the sight of his wife holding his daughter. He noticed Rose always relaxed immediately as Lucy nursed, and he felt a small pang of regret that he’d never have that kind of bond with his daughter. Rose felt his eyes on her and looked up at him, a gentle smile on her lips. She looked so happy.
He walked over to her, pulled a chair alongside. As their daughter had her fill, he quietly told Rose of how happy he was, how happy she had made him-what she meant to him. Rose’s gaze was full of love as she listened, as she in turn told him just how much she loved him, what he had done for her. It was perhaps the single most perfect moment of his life, he reflected, as they ended by gazing at each other in silence.
Lucy squalled, and he leaned in for a quick kiss before Rose shifted their daughter. He found a small cloth in the bag full of baby things which now accompanied them everywhere; he deftly draped it over Rose’s shoulder as she brought Lucy up for a burping. Rose gave him a grateful smile, and he smiled softly in response.
Lucy was going to need a change before they took her out for her christening, and he had the nappy and other supplies ready when Rose walked over. He had been surprised at how quickly he’d picked up the art of nappy-changing, spurred by rapid practice and-in the middle of the night-a desire to return to his wife in their bed. Rose had decreed him to be the best nappy-changer in the universe one night, when he’d had their daughter clean and changed in roughly a minute, and he’d not had the heart to tell her he had only wanted to get back to bed.
The magistrate reappeared through the doorway several minutes later, letting them know that it was almost time for the ceremony. Lucy was back to sleeping peacefully, resting in his arms, and he held out hope that they might have timed things right. Rose moved to him, leaned up for a kiss; he leaned down, happy to oblige, and felt his breath catch as she whispered, “Tha gaol agam ort” against his lips.
“Tha gaol agam ort-fhèin,” he replied, straightening. The magistrate looked to both of them, saw they were ready, and opened the door.
As with his wedding day, the naming ceremony passed in a bit of a blur. He knew the room was crammed full of people-some he knew from work, some he knew as friends, but many he’d never met at all. Pete had encouraged him to hire a photographer, warning he’d not remember a thing otherwise; as usual, his father-in-law had been right. Peter remembered very little at all from the ceremony itself besides sensations and snapshots of memory. There was a small stand off to the side, and it was here that he and Rose stood, announcing the name they’d chosen for their daughter, pledging to love and cherish her, to raise her to be a good person; he and Rose had discussed what to say at length, and yet he forgot the words as soon as they were done reciting their pledge. He instead continued to stare down at his daughter, sleeping soundly in his arms, oblivious to anything but her warmth, and the presence of her mother next to him.
The pictures, when he looked at them a day later, showed a happy family. There were dozens of pictures of both he and Rose looking down, lovingly, at the baby cradled in his arms; there were nearly as many of him looking at Rose, ready to burst with love. And there were many, many pictures of Rose gazing at him as he looked at her, or as he looked at Lucy, a lovingly contented expression on her face in some, a glowing smile of happiness in others. He couldn’t believe this was his life, his family.
The reception afterwards seemed interminable, the inevitable mingling with strangers who wanted to offer their congratulations as though they were old friends. He knew several of the invitees were tied in with Vitex, and for Rose’s sake he did his best to be sociable; even five years on, it was a constant struggle to rein in the urge to deliver scathing comments when at Vitex functions, ensuring he could actually speak at them instead of biting his tongue the entire time.
Mickey, Jake, and James were there, as were Penington and his small family; Elias and his wife were also there, offering congratulations and trying not to laugh as Peter continued to be forced into conversation with people he didn’t know. He was pleased to see Annie had made it, as well, bringing her husband with her, and he happily withstood Annie’s teasing at seeing him so fully domesticated.
The familiar faces had all been invited back to the house for a more informal gathering, and he looked forward to being in the comfortable surroundings with his true friends.
Rose was with him for all of it, doing her best to deflect most of the conversation to herself, and he continued to hold Lucy as though she might protect him from the interlopers. She eventually pulled through, waking with a whimper, wanting food. He could have stayed outside, mingling some more while Rose fed her, but it was the perfect excuse to go hide.
In spite of Lucy’s demands, Rose kissed him, fervently, when they were safely back in the peace of the anteroom. “Thank you, Peter,” she whispered as she pulled back. Lucy continued to writhe in his arms, her protests growing louder, and Rose took their daughter from him.
“For what?” he asked, bewildered.
Rose looked up at him, her eyes dark. “For being you.”
He wanted to shower her with kisses, to press her against the wall and make love to her in that room; he settled for smiling in wonder before leaning down for a quick kiss. “You’re welcome, then.”
Rose was rocking Lucy back to sleep, her little belly happily full, when Jackie and Pete joined them. “The party’s slowly breaking up-it should be safe to leave sometime soon,” Pete said with a twinkle in his eye.
Peter tried to hide his sigh of relief, and failed miserably. Jackie patted him consolingly on the shoulder. “You’ve done your duty by us, Peter-you should be good at least until Rose’s birthday.” She laughed at his look of horror, and relented. “Thank you, Peter.”
He blushed, looking at his daughter as he mumbled out “You’re welcome.” He extended his forefinger, watched as Lucy slowly wrapped her tiny hand around it; he was startled by the click of a camera.
He turned and saw Jackie beaming at him. He smiled in response, and went back to contentedly staring at his wife and daughter.
Of all of the pictures from that day, it was the one that Jackie took which graced his desk for the rest of his career.