Mummy Needs Help

I looked down at Holly in the crook of my left arm. Whatever Frankie’s idea of safe sleep was, it probably didn’t involve balancing above a two-metre drop to a hard linoleum floor. Maybe I could watch a movie.

***

At 3.30am, a nurse I did not recognise peered around the curtain and frowned when she saw my face. ‘Everything okay in here?’

I opened my mouth but found I could not speak. Holly had latched back on, drifting in and out of sleep, but lying across me in such a way that I could not even reach my phone any longer. I was counting creases in the curtains to keep myself awake.

The nurse was at my side, her hand on my shoulder. Her grip was firm and warm and I felt myself relax towards her.

‘I’m so tired,’ I spluttered. ‘She just wants to feed. I can’t put her down or she wakes up again. I haven’t slept since Thursday. I can’t work out how this “safe co-sleeping” stuff is meant to work.’

The nurse indicated for me to unlatch Holly and I rolled her on to my forearms.

‘Let me take her for a little walk,’ she said, watching my face for a reaction. ‘You get a little rest before visiting starts again.’

‘Are you allowed to do that?’

‘I’ll bring her back if I need to.’ She grinned and winked. ‘Don’t tell anyone – but it looks like you could do with a break.’

I watched as she propped Holly against her shoulder, tucking my baby’s head in under her chin, her body curled around as if she were still tucked up in my womb. The nurse – I realised I didn’t even know her name – walked out of the room.

***

The breakfast trolley rumbled into the room what felt like thirty seconds later. I blinked – it took half a second to register where I was and that I was meant to have a baby somewhere near me. I whipped around. She was asleep in the bassinette, her arms thrown up as if in silent celebration, her fists clenched tightly. A hospital orderly pushed back the curtain.

‘Breakfast?’

She looked chastened as I glared at her. ‘Sorry. Baby sleeping?’

I nodded. ‘The last thing I could cope with is her waking up right now.’

She grinned. ‘You wait until you get back home, and you’ve got everything else to worry about, too. I had five kids and no one ever brought me breakfast in bed.’

I had to fight not to roll my eyes. ‘Thanks for that.’

I watched Holly as I ate my limp cereal. She did look like Nick, with her almond-shaped eyes and heart-shaped face. Somehow his blond hair had won out so far, too. Her eyes were almost navy, a colour that I had been told would give way to bog-standard brown within a couple of months. Even in full sleep-thief mode, she was cute. Even if I wasn’t her mother, I was sure I’d agree she was one of the handful of newborns who are actually objectively adorable. Not like a little old man at all.

It was only half past six. Who thought giving breakfast at that sort of time was appropriate? An hour and a half until Nick would be permitted back in.

There was a commotion on the other side of the curtain. A woman was complaining. ‘Can I not just go home? I don’t want to be stuck here by myself.’

Someone told her to get into the bed. ‘You need to rest, Lauren. Have you anyone at home at the moment who could look after you even if you were discharged?’

The bed creaked and a bassinette wheel squeaked. I kept a wary eye on Holly. ‘Mum will be back tonight, I guess. My sister’s too busy at work to worry about me. But I don’t need anyone, I’m fine.’

The other woman, who I assumed must have been her midwife, clicked her tongue. ‘Well, I can’t sign off on sending you off so soon after giving birth without anyone to keep an eye on you. You are barely even old enough to drive. Spend the day and we’ll see how you’re feeling at the end of it, when your mum’s back here to help you again. This is a big deal, you know.’

The reply was belligerent. ‘Of course I’m old enough to drive. I’m seventeen. I just can’t afford a car yet.’

The door shut as the midwife left the room and the noises from the rest of the ward became more muted. It was like the recorded soundtrack of what someone might think a hospital should sound like in a movie. Shoes, the occasional shout, a lot of beeping. For a maternity ward, there were surprisingly few baby cries.

I took a sip of the overly diluted orange juice that had come with my breakfast. The only other time I had been in hospital in my life was getting my tonsils out when I was eight. Then, Mum had camped out on a chair next to the bed with me, passing me ice blocks to numb the pain. I’d been pleased to have her undivided attention for a whole forty-eight hours. What was the protocol for talking to someone else within the same room? Should I just strike up a conversation? Did she even know I was there?

I cleared my throat. ‘You okay?’

She shifted her weight in the bed. The sheets made a static rustle. ‘Are you talking to me?’

I grimaced. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do after all. ‘Yeah, just checking.’

The metal base of the bed groaned again. ‘I’m okay. I’m over this place. Just want to get out.’

I felt the opposite. Once I was out into the car park, it would all be on me. Although no doubt Ellen would be on our doorstep as soon as she could get to the flat, wanting to shadow my every move and remind me that there was a better way to do it. When would my own mother show? Maybe it was best not to think about it.

‘When was your baby born?’ I tried to keep the conversation going.

‘A few hours ago. I thought I only had to stay a couple and then I could go.’

There was the unmistakeable sound of a baby starting to snuffle. I could hear my roommate curse under her breath. A minute passed and the snuffling turned into a grumble, which threatened to turn into a full-blown cry.

A rustle indicated she had picked her baby up. Under the curtain, I could see she was on her feet, swaying from one foot to the other, muttering under her breath. ‘I can’t even remember any lullabies.’

I laughed, then cringed when Holly stirred. ‘Neither can I, but I doubt they’re going to judge you on the words. Just hum something that sounds a bit relaxing.’

I realised after a minute she was humming a version of a song I’d heard blaring from a car when I went to the supermarket a couple of days earlier. The lyrics were definitely not the type of thing you’d normally hear in a nursery.

Despite her best efforts, her baby was working herself into a frenzy.

Across the room, the curtain was yanked back and Lauren shuffled out. Through the gap in my cubicle curtain, which the orderly had left half open, I could see she was wearing a hoodie that bore a Disney logo. If I had passed her in the street, I would have unquestioningly accepted the idea that she was at least four years younger than seventeen.

Our eyes met as she shifted her baby on to her shoulder.

‘I’m Lauren, by the way.’

I waved. ‘Renee Campbell. Nice to meet you in this weird way.’

Lauren grinned. ‘I’ll walk up and down the hall for a bit. Annoy the nurses until they help me.’

I watched her. I was still working out how best to hold Holly but Lauren was slinging her baby around as if she had been attached to her for years.

‘You’ve done that before.’

Lauren shook her head. ‘I’ve spent time looking after my little cousins. They’re all the same, pretty much.’

‘You think?’

Lauren looked down at her baby, whose little legs were kicking at the air. Holly was somehow still asleep. ‘It feels a bit different, I guess. Mackenzie’s so tiny. But yeah, once you’ve dealt with a couple of them, there’s not that many surprises.’

I lay back on the bed and tried to scrape a sliver of jam over the floppy piece of toast on my breakfast tray.

‘Good luck.’ I smiled at Lauren. ‘I hope she settles for you soon.’

I watched as Lauren pushed open the door and ventured out on to the brightly lit corridor. The glare of a fluorescent tube bounced off her pink-tinged bleached-blonde hair, pulled up into a messy plait on the back of her head. I pushed my fringe back off my face. My skin was clammy from hours in the unnatural warmth of the maternity ward. When had I last brushed my teeth? I shut my eyes, willing my brain to shut off. Every time I relaxed, something unwelcome would ping in. Was Holly too hot? What was it Felicity had posted about them overheating? The nurses were determined to wrap her as if she was on an intrepid expedition to the Antarctic. Would I stumble on the stairs when we arrived home and drop her? Would we discover the apartment had a toxic mould problem? Helen had posted something in the group about the rate of respiratory diseases being caused by unhealthy old buildings. Our building probably hadn’t been properly aired out since 1923. Would she be bullied at school?

I focused on my breaths, counting each inhalation. The room was quieter than it had been all night. I paused. What was missing? I flicked an eye open and watched Holly. After a minute, I jumped to my feet. Stabbing at the call button, I shouted for help. ‘My daughter! She’s not breathing!’

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