‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay?’ Elsie asked, breathing hard.
Aida was seated alongside her on the couch, rubbing her back. ‘Would you stop worrying about me?’ she said. ‘You’re about to have a baby.’
‘I know, but –’ Elsie broke off and gritted her teeth with a groan as another contraction gripped her insides. She had known this was going to be painful, but good Lord in heaven, this went beyond anything she could have imagined.
Time was blurry now, but Elsie was vaguely aware that daylight was disappearing from the room. Aida had called Thomas home from work a while ago, when Elsie’s mild cramps had intensified into pains that took her away from herself, took her away from the lavender hedge she had been pruning, away from Aida.
Thomas, pacing nervously back and forth across the lounge room, finally came to her side. ‘I do think we should go now, my love,’ he said, his voice thin with nerves.
The pain eased and she felt Aida’s arms around her. ‘It’s time for you to go,’ Aida said. ‘I’ll see you in a few days.’ Elsie felt Aida’s cheek pressed against hers as she whispered, ‘Bring me back a baby.’
*
It was close to midnight, they told Elsie. Did she want to have this baby today or tomorrow?
The doctor’s voice: kind, no-nonsense, Okay, Mrs Mullet, it’s time now. She didn’t even feel the injection; a bizarre haziness simply came over her like sinking into water.
Millicent Eloise Mullet (they would always call her Millie) was born at 11.45pm, Wednesday 15 May 1963. Almost three weeks later than expected, she was a whopper at nine pounds, two ounces. Alert, wide-eyed and with her little fists to her chin she came into the world, they told Elsie later. Thomas, seated motionless as a mountain in the tea room, received the news of his healthy daughter from the matron with a blink, a nod and a swallow.
*
The sister bustled into the room, wheeling the trolley.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘We’re all ready for the feeding here. Would you like to do it, or would you like to sleep?’
‘I’ll do it,’ Elsie said, holding out her hands and fluttering her fingers. The sister lifted Millie from the trolley and set her in Elsie’s arms. Millie was four days old now and each time she held her, she still felt the startlingly warm heft of her as though it was the first time. Delicate, plump cheeks and downy skin so soft Elsie imagined she could breathe it in.
Once Millie was settled in Elsie’s arms, snuffling suggestively, the nurse handed her the bottle and Millie wrapped her lips eagerly around the teat. The sister laughed. ‘No issues with her appetite.’
Elsie beamed with pride.
‘She’s taken to it like a duck to water.’ The nurse pulled the sheets out from around Elsie’s feet to re-tuck them, pleating the centre so it wouldn’t drag down on Elsie’s toes. ‘You and her are going to do just fine.’
‘I’d like to go home today,’ Elsie said.
‘Are you sure? Most new mums like to stay a little longer, a week or so.’
Elsie shook her head. Millie’s rhythmic swallows were punctuated with squeaky gulping noises, like a kitten.
The nurse picked up her chart. ‘Well, she’s taken beautifully to the schedule. Have you been getting sleep?’
‘Some, yes.’ The nurses didn’t bother Elsie at night with any feeding, keeping the baby in the nursery so she could sleep. Sometimes she woke and for stretches of time forgot she even had a baby, until she was reminded by the stinging between her legs. She gazed down at the baby, marvelling at the frown lines of concentration on her tiny forehead, at the soft whorls of dark hair at her temples. It seemed vaguely fantastical, not altogether real, that this tiny human was related to her. Had actually emerged from her body.
‘I’m sure Mr Mullet will be happy to have you both at home,’ the nurse said. ‘Let me talk to the doctor.’
When Millie’s feed was finished, Elsie allowed herself to cradle her for a few moments longer before the baby would have to be returned to her trolley. The living weight of her in Elsie’s arms felt like such a privilege.
A privilege she knew Aida had been denied.
Elsie traced a fingertip over Millicent’s tiny lips, the crescents of her eyebrows. The prickling, tugging sensation in her breasts grew and she tried not to gasp when, after she mentioned it, the sister rebound her breasts tightly with crepe.
‘It could be a few more days,’ the nurse said as she helped retie her robe. ‘Keep the binding applied until you dry up.’ Briefly the nurse described the symptoms of milk fever and Elsie nodded obligingly.
Nothing would bother her, because today she was going home. She was taking Millie to meet Aida.
She was bringing Aida her baby.