Bundle of Trouble(6)
Jim shrugged. “Part of me is always trying to protect him. What if the guy who called wasn’t even from the medical examiner’s office? What if it was someone who’s just trying to find out where George is? Like someone he owes money to or something like that.”
I held out my hand for Jim. He got up and crossed the room, sitting on the bed. “Honey,” I said. “That makes no sense. If it was someone George owes money to, why would they ask about his scars?”
Jim shrugged, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “All my life everyone has tried to help George. Growing up, my mom told me to take care of him. Your best friend for life, she always said. I did my best, but nothing was ever good enough for him. He always demanded more, giving nothing in return and managing to poison everything and everyone around him.” His face contorted in anger, then turned to sadness. “I didn’t want the joy of Laurie’s birth clouded over by news about George.” After a moment, he said, “I took down the guy’s phone number. I’ll call him when we’re home, make sure I’m really reaching the medical examiner’s office.”
We sat in silence for a moment. I put my arms around him and pressed my cheek against his. I understood his desire to postpone bad news.
As the sun came up, the room began to glow. I glanced at the clock and realized Laurie was due back at any minute.
“Sorry I woke you,” I said.
He stroked my hair. “Try not to worry about George. I’m doing it enough for the both of us. You focus on Laurie and on recovering.”
The day nurse wheeled in our little bundle, wrapped in a pink and blue striped swaddling blanket with a pink cap on her head. She looked like a tiny cherub with rosy cheeks. I noticed a scratch on her face. Laurie’s itty-bitty nails were extremely long. The nurse explained that hospital staff refused to trim them “because of the liability.”
How ridiculous was that? A qualified nursing professional wouldn’t trim those microscopic things. I’m supposed to?
How could I trust myself not to cut off a finger? Where was Giselle? And who was this day nurse who didn’t even have the decency to help us trim the little talons?
Laurie swung her hands frightfully close to her bright blue eyes. Jim and I decided filing them seemed a much safer option.
As I manicured Laurie, Jim called our family and friends announcing the birth of our daughter. When Jim dialed his Uncle Roger, I found myself holding my breath.
“Uncle Roger? It’s Jim . . . we had the baby . . . yeah . . . beautiful baby girl . . . six pounds, five ounces . . . Laurie. Katie’s doing great.”
Jim listened as Roger spoke. I continued to eavesdrop, but couldn’t make out much from Roger’s end.
I mouthed to Jim, “Ask him about George.”
Jim waved me away, then turned his back to me.
I checked Laurie’s diaper. Her diapers were so tiny, Jim and I laughed every time we had to change one. She was dry.
I wondered if the nurse had changed her. In the baby preparation class, they told us we would now become “waste watchers.” Laurie needed to have as many wet diapers per day as she was days old. Two days old, two wet diapers. At least until the mother’s milk came in. Right now she was surviving solely on colostrum, the premilk.
How would it feel to have milk come in? Were you supposed to feel anything? So far, I’d noticed nothing. What if it didn’t come in? What then? How would I know anyhow? And even if it did come in, would it be enough?
Earlier this morning the day nurse had stood over our bed and observed me breastfeeding. She frowned as she wrote down on my chart: “Breastfeeding: mother—poor, baby—poor.”
How could she write that?
I’m an overachiever by nature, but the nurse’s remark about me didn’t bother me as much as the remark about Laurie. How could she say Laurie was “poor” at anything? I felt an immediate instinct to defend my little one. Forget that nurse. We would show her. We were going to become breastfeeding wonders.
When did Giselle’s shift start?
Jim hung up the phone, the sound interrupting my thoughts. “Uncle Roger hasn’t heard from the medical examiner’s office.”
“Oh? I didn’t hear you ask him.”
“I didn’t. But he didn’t say anything about it, so I know they didn’t call him.”
“Why didn’t you just ask him?”
“Why bother him? Hasn’t Roger been through enough?”
I felt my stomach tighten. “Aren’t you worried?”
Laurie answered with a wail as though she sensed her father’s distress.
Avoiding my question, Jim teased, “Go ahead and try that breastfeeding thing again. I hear you two are poor at it.”