We were stomping across Shotover Hill in the rain this afternoon when ex-housemate S's text message - "12 hour labour, very tired" - arrived. What's the protocol? Can you just turn up?
We asked Plumbing S when we stopped in for tea and hot cross buns. She knows about these things. If she's still in hospital, she said, she'll be bored sideways, definitely go. If she's at home, ring first and take food.
We thought she was probably still in. We did ip dip dog shit to choose between the three maternity wards, and got the right one first time. Ex-housemate S looked great, lying in bed with a packet of Walker's salt and vinegar on one side of her and an expressing machine on the other. Her Young Man looked exhausted, but he's got the sort of cold that would keep most young men in bed, and he hasn't been near his for days.
And in the middle was a tiny little thing with a squashed head. I've never seen a baby that new before. I know where he came from, but I still can't quite make sense of it. Possibly I have a bit missing. I think babies are fascinating, but as alien as the surface of Mars.
About four years ago my friend K gave me her new daughter to hold while she went to get something. I didn't have time to say 'actually, I don't know how to hold babies'. This time, S said 'I'm not sure Jo's allowed to hold him', but M (who is allowed, because he's had three of his own) grinned at her and handed him over anyway.
I found him surprisingly dense, as if all his humanity is already there and will spread out over time as he grows, and surprisingly warm. I think he and ex-housemate S will get along just fine.
joella
2 comments:
"... will spread out over time as he grows, and surprisingly warm."
You make him sound like a draft excluder.
Maybe I can borrow him to squidge down the side of the front door. He's about the right shape.
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