Page 29 of How We Loved

Yesterday evening I’d had a panic about the baby being in the cot across the room, so Ben moved everything around. Not exactly co-sleeping, but the cot was as close as we were going to get it.

I was watching him as he placed her down and paused to watch her for a moment before heading back to the bed. “She’s beautiful,” he said, as he slipped alongside me and I snuggled in.

“I know. I’m so clever.”

“You are.”

Then we fell asleep... for thirty seconds before she started making little sleep noises, and we both sat up to watch her. Eventually, I pulled on Ben’s sleeve. “We need to sleep.”

He fell back on the bed face-first. “Wake me if you need me,” he said, but it sounded like, ‘Oof oof if oo eeen me’ because his face was in his pillow.

“I love you,” I said, but he just lifted his hand in acknowledgment.

I fell back into a coma for two hours. Ben didn’t wake at all.

30th November

So a few things are happening.

Firstly, Mum’s staying. She came armed with loads of baby stuff so we couldn’t send her away. I don’t mind. It’s nice to have someone make me a cup of tea. A massive bouquet of flowers arrived earlier, and Mum sorted them into a vase for us. They were from Baz, the card said; proud of you guys... enjoy the quiet stage. Will pop by and see you when you are up to visitors.

“What do you think he means, the quiet stage?” I asked.

Ben shrugged. He was trying to get a sock onto the baby with no name’s foot. Nope. We still don’t have a name.

“Arabella?” I’d suggested when we woke up. Ben had just groaned and thrown his arm over his face. He’s only so tired because he’s insisting on waking up with me every time I feed her during the night.

“Ben. This baby needs a name. It’s embarrassing.” I’d staggered out of bed, careful not to make any noise at all, and tiptoed to the bathroom. I’m still rather sore in the downstairs area. I can’t believe the birth was that quick, and well, frankly that brutal. My boobs are so sore. In fact, there isn’t a part of my body that doesn’t hurt. It feels like one of my terrible hangovers where I’d ended up in a dance-off with someone or other, but no drink has been consumed, and definitely no dancing. My vagina wouldn’t cope.

The midwife is popping by shortly to do a last check before the baby with no name gets signed over to the health visitors. We’ve been given a red book which apparently we have to keep until she’s eighteen... yeah right, the chances of that happening are small and there’s no point denying it.

Crap. We are going to have to tell the midwife we haven’t got a name yet.

How embarrassing.

Right... name...

Becca, no.

Sally - yes maybe... in 1985.

Francesca... mmmm

I didn’t tell Ben but I quite liked Isla, it’s just a bit too close to my name and I don’t want us to be one of those weird rhyming families that all have similar names and dress to match each other.

Sienna... nice, but sounds like she could end up married to a pop star and printed about in the tabloids... oh wait, that’s me.

Ivy... nope, not close enough to Christmas for that to be cute.

I need to think about this. I’m going to go and stare at her until inspiration hits. Also, I think she might need a feed because my right tit is feeling rather large. The glamour of parenting.

- Okay, baby name.

- Feed before right tit explodes.

- Get ready for the midwife.

Later