LEXIE
When I get home, I lift Daisy’s car seat out of the car, and I carry it carefully up the front steps to my front door.
I rest the seat on the ground, unlock the door, and then I pause. I turn around and stare at my front yard and into the street. I suddenly wish I’d let Sam take the day off to be here to welcome her. It doesn’t feel right that I’m here alone for this moment.
This remarkable little girl, who at six weeks old has already been through something so difficult that most adults who attempt it fail, well—she deserves a whole community to embrace her and to celebrate her. Daisy Vidler is a triumph. She is a living, breathing miracle.
I look out across my street. Across the road, Mrs. Winters is tending her garden, and she sees me standing there staring out, and offers me a vaguely disinterested wave. A delivery truck rumbles past. In the distance a dog is barking. The world does not stop to celebrate this—the world doesn’t even stop to contemplate it. I bend down and slip the car seat handle up onto my arm, and I see that she is awake. She has the pacifier in her mouth, but she is looking around, a gradually sharpening curiosity in her eyes.
“Come on, sweetheart,” I say gently. “Come and see your home—your home for now, anyway.”
So I take Daisy into our house, and I gently lift her from the car seat to keep her close as I walk around showing her each room. “This will be your room. This one is mine and Sam’s. Here is a kitchen. Here is the backyard.”
I feel like an idiot speaking to a baby, but I know that it needs to be done—how often have I told mothers and newborns that they should speak to their child to help their language development? I watched the nurses do this very thing all day at the hospital, and I have always felt too self-conscious to attempt it myself. But now she has only me. I could become overwhelmed again by the very thought of this, but I refuse to go there. And so I chat with Daisy. I chat as I set up her diapers and the new formula from the hospital pharmacy. And then, oddly, I keep chatting even after she is sleeping in her cot for the very first time.
When Sam comes home, I greet him with surprising enthusiasm. My mood has lifted. Some strange optimism has risen in me again now that Daisy is safe and well in our house.
“Well.” Sam looks at me in surprise when I pull back from our kiss. “So, your first few hours alone with her are going well, then?”
I grin at him, then kiss him again. His skin is rough with stubble, and I rub my palm against his cheek.
“Takeout and beers tonight, to celebrate Daisy’s release?” I murmur against his lips.
Sam smiles at me, but says gently, “Let’s go easy on the beers. She is going to wake up for a feed every few hours.”
I grimace, and then giggle, “What was that about you saying you are going to help me out with her?”
The landline rings, and I skip away from Sam to lift it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Lex?” Of course it’s Annie, and I squeal with excitement.
“Guess what? Guess who’s here, in my house?”
“She’s out of the hospital?” Annie gasps.
“Oh, yes, she is, Annie.” I grin, and Sam winks at me as he walks into the house. I breathe deeply and say into the phone, “Don’t worry. I’ve got photos of everything.”
I hear Annie sniffle, and my smile fades just a little.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay,” she says, and there’s a weak laugh. “Enough about me. Tell me more about Daisy. Where is she now?”
“She’s sleeping in the cot in the room we set up for her. Don’t worry, there’s a baby monitor right next to her...”
It’s an odd conversation, not because of what Annie and I talk about—but what we don’t talk about. For ten entire minutes I fill her in on every single aspect of Daisy’s care arrangements in my home, and it’s only when we go to say goodbye that I ask again, “Why did you call, love? Is everything okay?”
“It was a tough day. But...hearing about Daisy has helped. I’m going to go now, okay? Take care of her for me.”
“Of course,” I say. “Always.”