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“Yeah, but most mums sleep when their baby does. You’ll burn yourself out. Things can wait until we get used to everything new.”
“I’m fine, Dylan. It’s good to have energy for things like this, right?”
“I guess...”
I’m torn. Sky’s happy and full of life, but my instincts tell me otherwise. How many new mums don’t care about their baby’s name? She cares for him, there in an instant when he needs, but sometimes the feeling she’d rather I took over niggles.
“I made up his bottles.” Sky stands and opens the fridge door to indicate the row. “I wrote down when he needs them too.” She closes the door and points to a list on the fridge.
“Okay,” I say.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m worried about you.”
Sky crosses the kitchen and touches my face. “Why? Everything is good, isn’t it?” She looks past me. “Is he awake?”
“He’s in the crib in the lounge. He just fed.” I hold up the empty bottle.
“Dylan! You need to follow the schedule.”
“What schedule?”
“Feeding.” She gestures at the list on the fridge.
“He woke when you were in the shower. I think he was hungry.”
Sky’s look darkens, and she drops the cloth. “We talked about this.”
“I know, but your mum said—”
“She’s not an expert on the baby!” snaps Sky. “I’ll check on him now.”
I look from Sky’s retreating figure to the mess in the kitchen and back again. Someone told me some shit about women having nesting instincts before the baby comes but not after. These last few days she’s spent all the time baby’s asleep tidying and organising, complaining she didn’t have time because he came early. Fine, I understand the need to arrange the nursery or plan what we need in the coming weeks. But remodelling the kitchen?
What is wrong with her? She should be exhausted; I am.
SKY
I watch the boy sleeping,tucked beneath a yellow blanket, and only his face and tiny fists visible.
And I feel nothing.
This isn’t my baby.
My baby is a girl. They made a mistake. It happens; hospitals mix babies up, and parents take the wrong one home. This happened to us.
Dylan wasn’t with me when she was born. If he had, he could’ve stopped the swap happening, and I’d have my baby, not somebody else’s. Did they mess up when we arrived at the hospital? I have hazy memories of the birth, and I don’t want to revisit the event in my mind. Jem might know, but Jem’s away and hasn’t time to talk to me.
That’s suspicious.
Dylan told me Jem’s awkward about the situation with him too, because he doesn’t know what to say to me. Jem’s promised we’ll talk face to face when he’s back from the States. I’m unsure I can wait that long for him to fill in the gaps.
I look after the little boy as if he were mine, because it wouldn’t be fair to him or his real mum if I didn’t. When they bring my baby back, and we swap, I want his mum to know I did everything I was supposed to.
I’m 100% certain. If this was my baby, when I looked at him I’dfeel. My heart would fill with love the way it does for my husband; the way Dylan’s does when he looks at me and the child he thinks is his son. I can care for him, but I can’t love him.
I mentioned my fears to Dylan once, and he thought I was joking. Later, I lay in bed gripped by a scary possibility: maybe he knows. Maybe Dylan wanted a boy and that’s what happened. Sometimes I hear him talking to the doctors and nurses but not wanting me to hear. I’m sure something’s wrong.
The little boy grumbles in his sleep and I chew my lip, hoping he doesn’t wake up yet. I’m sick of smiling and pretending. I can’t do this much longer.
I need to take him back to the hospital and ask them to find my daughter.
