Chapter 198 One Hundred & Ninety eight
Chapter 198 One Hundred & Ninety eight
EMMA POV
Ryan immediately sprang into action.
He made pasta and garlic bread and salad. Things I could eat with one hand while holding Grace.
"This is amazing," I said through mouthfuls of food.
"You deserve amazing," he said. "You're keeping a human alive. With your body. That's incredible."
"It's exhausting," I said.
"It is," he agreed. "But you're doing it. our superwoman,†he said, giving me a kiss on my forehead.
That night, Grace slept longer.
Four hours straight.
I woke up in a panic.
"Why hasn't she cried?" I said to Ryan.
"Because she's sleeping," he said sleepily.
"What if she stopped breathing?" I asked.
I got up and checked on her. She was breathing. She was fine. She was just sleeping.
I went back to bed and tried to sleep but I couldn't.
I just laid there waiting for her to wake up.
She woke up at 4 AM hungry.
By 7 AM on day three, I'd accepted that sleep was a thing of the past.
My body was running on fumes and spite.
"You look like a zombie," Ryan said teasingly, “ a very cute one.â€
"I feel like a zombie," I said. "Is this forever? Am I going to be exhausted forever?"
"It gets easier," he said, using the lactation specialist's words.
"Everyone keeps saying that and I don't believe them," I said.
But something shifted around day four.
Grace started to eat a little more efficiently. The feedings started to hurt less. I started to figure out her cry patterns.
The "I'm hungry" cry was different from the "I'm tired" cry.
The "I have gas" cry was different from the "I'm just being dramatic" cry.
I was starting to understand my daughter.
By day five, I left the apartment for the first time.
Just to get the mail.
It took me twenty minutes to get out the door because I had to make sure Grace was okay, that the door was locked, that I had my keys.
Getting the mail should not be this complicated.
But I did it.
I got the mail and came back inside and Grace was fine.
And somehow that made me feel like I could do this.
Not well, maybe.
But I could do it.
On day six, Ryan stepped out to pick up some stuff he'd forgotten.
He was only gone for an hour. But I was terrified the entire time.
What if something happened? What if Grace got sick? What if I did something wrong?
When he came back, I was on the verge of panic.
"You okay?" he asked.
"You were gone for an hour," I said.
"I was gone for an hour," he agreed.
"What if she needed you?" I asked.
"She doesn't need me," he said. "She needs you more. She needs your milk and your warmth and your voice. She's fine, sweeter."
"What if I'm not enough?" I asked.
"You're enough," he said. "You're more than enough."
By the end of week one, I was starting to feel human again.
Not great. Not well-rested. But human.
Grace was starting to develop a schedule. Sort of. Babies didn't really have schedules. But there were patterns.
Eat, sleep, poop, repeat.
She was getting bigger. Or at least it felt like it. She still looked like an angry potato but she was my angry potato.
One morning, I was feeding her and she opened her eyes and just looked at me.
Not like she was hungry or tired or uncomfortable.
Like she actually saw me.
"Hi, my Kobe," I whispered.
She didn't smile. Newborns don't smile on purpose. But her eyes lit up… as she recognised me.
"She smiled," I said to Ryan.
"That's gas," he said.
"It's not gas," I said. "She smiled at me."
Whether it was a real smile or just gas, I didn't care.
Because in that moment, I felt less terrified.
This tiny human that had arrived so suddenly.
This daughter that I'd made and pushed out and was now keeping alive with my own body.
She was here.
And maybe I was doing okay.
Maybe we all were.
One week down.
Infinite more weeks to go.
But we were making it.
Against all odds, we were making it.
Ryan came over and put his arm around me while I fed Grace.
"We have a baby," he said, like he was still processing it.
"We do," I agreed.
"And she's perfect," he said.
"She's an angry potato," I said.
"Our angry potato," he said.