Our first night here, I barely slept a wink, but that was more my doing than Peach’s. I found myself constantly going into the nursery to check on her, standing over her cot, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. For some reason, I was paranoid she’d stop breathing.
Without the security of doctors and nurses on hand, I felt completely exposed. Every little noise she made had my heart jumping. Every tiny twitch or hiccup sent my mind racing. I was suddenly hyper-aware of everything and an anxiety-ridden mess if I’m being honest.
I’ve never worried about my own fate, but the thoughtof something happening to my niece became an unbearable weight I couldn’t shake, and it takes a lot to rattle me.
Each moment felt stretched thin, and each breath she made seemed fragile. It made me realise how much I’d relied on the invisible safety net of the hospital’s trained hands and machines. Without them, the responsibility felt enormous and suffocating.
The gnawing fear that I might miss something, that a split second could change everything, refused to let go. It was a stark reminder of how thin the line can be between feeling in control and being completely helpless.
In the end, I grabbed a pillow from my bed and lay on the floor beside her cot, too wired to rest but unwilling to step away.
The second night, I relaxed a little, at least enough to sleep in my own bed. I had the baby monitor on and the sensor pad beneath her mattress, programmed to sound an alarm if she stopped breathing for more than twenty seconds, but even that wasn’t enough to fully relax me.
My confidence grew with each passing day, but I’m starting to realise that may have lulled me into a false sense of security, because for the past hour, all she’s done is cry. Actually,screamis a better word. I’m talking full lungs, red face, and tiny fists flailing in the air like she’s waging war on the world.
“I’ve got you, Lil’ Peach,” I murmur, bouncing her in my arms as I pace the room. I’m not even sure if I believe my own words anymore.
I’m seconds away from taking her back to the hospital. I’ve done everything I was taught to do. I’ve fed her, burped her, and changed her twice. Short of calling in an exorcism, I’ve got nothing.
“What is it, baby girl? You can’t be hungry again, you just ate.”
She answers with another ear-splitting wail that couldprobably shatter glass. I try a different rhythm, a new bounce, a gentle sway, but nothing does the trick.
I’m about to surrender to the noise when she goes suspiciously quiet. For a brief, blissful second, I think I’ve cracked it, and stupid me actually smiles.
“There we go,” I say proudly, puffing out my chest slightly. And then it happens. Like a tiny, possessed fountain, she projectile vomits with alarming force.
I’m not talking about the little puddles she’s left on my shirt prior; this one drenches my shoulder, arm, and goes clear across the room. I just stand here for a moment, shocked and a little awed, before the panic comes rushing back.
We had a rough night—well, I did. I ended up sleeping on my recliner with Lil’ Peach draped over my bare chest. I woke with a stiff neck and an ache at the base of my spine, but thankfully, there’s been no more vomit.
By late morning, the crying starts again to the point where I’m starting to feel desperate. I know babies cry, but there’s a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that something else is going on here.
I’m in two minds about taking her back to the hospital. I definitely want her checked out, to make sure there’s nothing sinister happening, but I’m also worried they’ll realise they made a mistake giving her to me.
That hesitation is holding me back, but seeing Peach so distressed has me slinging the baby bag over my shoulder, grabbing my car keys, and heading for the door a few minutes later.
As I descend the front stairs, I spot the old lady across the street, standing stiffly by her letterbox. Lil’ Peach’s criesare sharp enough to cut through the morning calm. Fuck, the entire neighbourhood can probably hear her.
I hug Peach tighter, and my stomach twists, wishing I could make the world quiet for just a second.
By the time I reach the car, I tense further when I notice my neighbour heading in my direction. Her steps are slow and deliberate, and her gaze is fixed on me. Great. Just what I don’t need, an audience and her fucking judgment. I’m sure I’ll get plenty of that when I arrive at the hospital.
“Hi,” she says softly as she reaches the edge of the driveway. “Is everything okay?”
I flinch at the gentleness in her voice. My patience is already running thin. “Does everything look okay?” I snap, clutching Peach a little tighter.
She raises her hands in front of her and calmly says, “I just wanted to check if there’s anything I can do to help?”
I stiffen, caught off guard by the kind offer. For a moment, I’m tempted to bark something back, to push her away, but I don’t. “She won’t stop crying. I’m going to take her to the hospital to get checked out.”
“Are you a first-time father?”
“I’m not her father, I’m her uncle.”
“Oh, I see.”
I blow out a long breath, hating that I gave my nosy neighbour some insight into my private life, but that’s all she’s getting. It’s none of her fucking business.
