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Once he’s done dragging things out, I redress her and put her back into her car seat. She’s alert right now, and my boobs tingle, knowing that she’s going to be wanting a feed.
He sounds reluctant when he admits, “She’s perfect, Maia. You’re doing everything right.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“We’ll schedule another review at the four week mark,” he says, making a note on his computer so that the reception staff will book me in. “You’ll be discharged soon from the community midwife team, but your health visitor will then take over and do her usual checks.”
I’ve seen my community midwife twice since coming home from the hospital, and we’re going to see her again in a few days’ time.
She’s nice and sweet and has given me so many tips to survive the long nights alone.
I like her, and she doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable like he does.
“So why do I need to see you?” I ask with a frown. My tone is a little rude, but I don’t care. I’m five days postpartum and completely over the fact I’ve had to leave my nice, warm home to come here. Sure, it’s technically the start of spring, but since we’re only four days into March, the weather hasn’t gotten the memo that winter is over. “Is there something we should be worried about?”
“No, of course not. It’s normal procedure here for us to check in at the four week mark. We like to have a more hands on approach when it comes to our patients so that nothing slips through the cracks. It’s nothing to worry about—just a review for both mother and babe, and a chance for us to give additional support if needed,” he reassures me flippantly, and I nod slowly.
Phoebe starts to root around, her little hands clenched into fists, a tell-tale sign of her hunger, and I smile down at her.
“Go get her settled,” he murmurs, looking at us curiously. “And I’ll see you at the four week mark.”
I nod and lift her in the car seat, heading out of the room with an uneasy feeling stirring in my gut. He wasn’t super rude, but the feeling of not being good enough that he instilled in me was hard to deal with. I’ll see if I can see a different doctor next time I come in.
I pause at reception and ask if there’s somewhere I can feed her. I don’t care about feeding in public, but the waiting room is quite busy, and I don’t want my newborn around sick people longer than necessary.
After the appropriate cooing over Phoebe, I’m directed through to the baby room just off to the side. It’s really lovely, lot’s of animal decals on the wall, including a very big mother wolf with her cubs. It’s super sweet, but the best thing is that, in the corner, there’s a large, black arm-chair that seems perfect for breastfeeding in. There’s an armrest that can move from the left to the right side, which means when I switch her over, it’ll be easy. There’s also a matching ottoman that doubles as a footrest, despite the fact that the chair reclines, setting everything up perfectly.
I’ve never seen anything so comfortable looking, and I’m definitely going to look into ordering one for myself. Maybe if Phoebe had the four hands she should’ve, this chair wouldn’t be a necessary purchase, alas, it is.
“Come on then, sweet girl,” I murmur, undoing the straps of her car seat. I lift her out, taking a deep inhale of her scent as she does the cutest newborn scrunch, before cuddling her in close.
As I sink into the luscious fabric, I undo my bra and feed my boob through my top. Phoebe struggles to latch initially, despite the nipple being in her mouth, but she soothes herself as soon as the milk begins to flow.
I run my hand over her hair and close my eyes. There’s nothing better than this feeling.
Pregnancy was hard, doing it all alone, and the days were rough when I was both mourning and celebrating at the same time.
But everything is easier now.
Because it’s not just me anymore.
Iplace Phoebe down in her crib in our living room, and a screaming fit ensues the moment I do. She wants to feed some more, and she’s not shy in making her needs known.
Tears well up in my eyes as I go to take my food out of the oven in the kitchen. It’s hard not being able to be by her side every second, but I need to eat to keep up my supply, and in turn, nourish her. But how do you explain logic to a baby who can’t grasp it?
As I pull the chicken pie out of the oven, her cries stop, and she lets out a small whine. I turn everything off and place the dish on the table, wanting to give it a few minutes to cool down before I eat it. But as I head back through to the suspiciously silent room, goosebumps race all over my skin.
The pit of unease only rises as I look at the bassinet in the centre of the room, and the reason why she’s fallen silent is clear. Horror fills me, a silent scream leaving my throat, as the tears reappear in my eyes.
Instead of my gorgeous, little baby girl laying in her crib where I put her… there’s a baby wolf, who softly blinks at me with bright grey eyes before letting out a howl.
2
MAIA
Idon’t know how long it takes me to snap out of my panicked state. It might’ve been when the tiny wolf curled up into a small ball inside my baby’s crib, or it might’ve been when it howled softly in its sleep. But I do know that this fucking vermin needs to get out of my house.
Whoever took my child and left this... this thing, isn’t funny at all. It’s one thing being so pathetically low that you’d steal a newborn baby from its mother, but to replace it with a dirty, flea-ridden animal? You’ve got to be psychotic.
