when I told her I’d never held a baby before, she looked at me incredulously. ‘What – never ?’
It seemed incredible to me too, once I gave it some thought, but it was true, and as I went into the nursery to give Louise the first of her two feeds, I felt wholly inadequate for the task.
I picked her up – she was crying, of course; they all either slept or cried – and gingerly eased my hand under her tiny skull. This seemed to calm her immediately, which helped my
confidence a lot, but then she started to cry again. It wasn’t her mother picking her up, and I sensed she knew that. As I lowered us both onto the nursing chair beside the cot, I felt the
weight of the world in the shape of this tiny little human. Where would she end up? What would her future be like when she left the convent? How could Ann, now she’d given birth to her, bear
to part with her?
Tentatively I pushed the teat of the bottle into her tiny open mouth, and almost immediately the crying stopped and was replaced by urgent sucking. She seemed so strong, her little lips really
tugging on the bottle. As she fed, her expression became dreamy and faraway, softening her angry features as if by magic.
I was all at sea again once the bottle was empty. Louise had fallen into what looked like a deep and dreamy slumber, but I would have to wake her up to change her nappy. She protested loudly as
I got up and took her over to the changing mat, and even more as I tried gently to remove her clothes. How horrible it must be, I thought, to be a baby in this place. It was so cheerless and cold
– all hard surfaces and draughts. I knew I was making things worse with my ineptitude. The nappies were so big. There was so much cloth, so many corners, so much stiff, scratchy towelling
– and I had so little sense of what to do with it. All the while Louise was looking up at me, fractious and bewildered and uncomfortable, as the chill air of the cavernous nursery began to
turn her little legs blue.
‘Here, let me help,’ said one of the other mothers, who’d joined me at the counter. I’d been taking so long over everything, she was the only other girl left in the
nursery. ‘It’s almost too painful to watch you!’ she said, smiling warmly. Once again, I could only stand and marvel as she showed me the correct way to fold the nappy, how to lay
it beneath the baby and how to deal with both the fabric and the scary nappy pins.
‘There,’ she said proudly, before returning to her own baby. ‘That’ll give you a head start when your own little one comes along.’
She looked about eighteen, and could have been even younger, but she seemed so efficient, so calm, so untroubled by her baby’s angry kicking. ‘How old is he?’ I asked her, as
she redressed her little boy. ‘Close on six weeks now,’ she said. ‘He’s just gorgeous, isn’t he?’
I agreed that he was, as she picked him up again. She held him to her face, just as Ann had done. It was almost like she was trying to drink in the scent of him. ‘Not long now,’ she
said, giving me a wry half-smile. ‘Less than two weeks.’ She kissed him again. ‘It’s all gone too fast – much too fast.’
The light caught her face and despite her cheerful demeanour I could see tears shining in her eyes. ‘How can you bear it?’ I asked, because I genuinely wanted to know. I just
couldn’t see myself there, having to be her, having to be so brave.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m not even sure I can yet. But I’m going to have to bear it, aren’t I? What else is to be done?’
As she relinquished her baby to the jaws of his cot and hurried from the nursery to resume her chores, I wished I knew her story. Where had she come from? What was she going back to when she
left? But then, I thought, I already knew her story, didn’t I? It was the same as mine – wretched. And she was right: there was nothing to be done about it.
What a horrible, unfeeling world we both
It seemed incredible to me too, once I gave it some thought, but it was true, and as I went into the nursery to give Louise the first of her two feeds, I felt wholly inadequate for the task.
I picked her up – she was crying, of course; they all either slept or cried – and gingerly eased my hand under her tiny skull. This seemed to calm her immediately, which helped my
confidence a lot, but then she started to cry again. It wasn’t her mother picking her up, and I sensed she knew that. As I lowered us both onto the nursing chair beside the cot, I felt the
weight of the world in the shape of this tiny little human. Where would she end up? What would her future be like when she left the convent? How could Ann, now she’d given birth to her, bear
to part with her?
Tentatively I pushed the teat of the bottle into her tiny open mouth, and almost immediately the crying stopped and was replaced by urgent sucking. She seemed so strong, her little lips really
tugging on the bottle. As she fed, her expression became dreamy and faraway, softening her angry features as if by magic.
I was all at sea again once the bottle was empty. Louise had fallen into what looked like a deep and dreamy slumber, but I would have to wake her up to change her nappy. She protested loudly as
I got up and took her over to the changing mat, and even more as I tried gently to remove her clothes. How horrible it must be, I thought, to be a baby in this place. It was so cheerless and cold
– all hard surfaces and draughts. I knew I was making things worse with my ineptitude. The nappies were so big. There was so much cloth, so many corners, so much stiff, scratchy towelling
– and I had so little sense of what to do with it. All the while Louise was looking up at me, fractious and bewildered and uncomfortable, as the chill air of the cavernous nursery began to
turn her little legs blue.
‘Here, let me help,’ said one of the other mothers, who’d joined me at the counter. I’d been taking so long over everything, she was the only other girl left in the
nursery. ‘It’s almost too painful to watch you!’ she said, smiling warmly. Once again, I could only stand and marvel as she showed me the correct way to fold the nappy, how to lay
it beneath the baby and how to deal with both the fabric and the scary nappy pins.
‘There,’ she said proudly, before returning to her own baby. ‘That’ll give you a head start when your own little one comes along.’
She looked about eighteen, and could have been even younger, but she seemed so efficient, so calm, so untroubled by her baby’s angry kicking. ‘How old is he?’ I asked her, as
she redressed her little boy. ‘Close on six weeks now,’ she said. ‘He’s just gorgeous, isn’t he?’
I agreed that he was, as she picked him up again. She held him to her face, just as Ann had done. It was almost like she was trying to drink in the scent of him. ‘Not long now,’ she
said, giving me a wry half-smile. ‘Less than two weeks.’ She kissed him again. ‘It’s all gone too fast – much too fast.’
The light caught her face and despite her cheerful demeanour I could see tears shining in her eyes. ‘How can you bear it?’ I asked, because I genuinely wanted to know. I just
couldn’t see myself there, having to be her, having to be so brave.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m not even sure I can yet. But I’m going to have to bear it, aren’t I? What else is to be done?’
As she relinquished her baby to the jaws of his cot and hurried from the nursery to resume her chores, I wished I knew her story. Where had she come from? What was she going back to when she
left? But then, I thought, I already knew her story, didn’t I? It was the same as mine – wretched. And she was right: there was nothing to be done about it.
What a horrible, unfeeling world we both
Similar Books
