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She saw her little angled eyes, not sure yet of the color because she wouldn’t open them, but the nurses had told her when Flynn was born that all babies were born with blue eyes. Her little tongue peeked between her lips. Tongue thrusting was a common occurrence with babies with Down syndrome.
The feeding tube had been inserted through her nose and was taped to her face. Saddened thinking about the pain it might have caused her baby, all she wanted was for her to gain weight so they could take her home.
Every second that Tony was home, he was at Bridget’s side. She encouraged him to supervise at the house if he wanted, but he reassured her that his brothers and father were taking care of everything.
“Aw, those men,” she said, giggling. “I hope Candy keeps an eye on things. I’d hate to come home and find deer heads mounted on the walls, with a keg in the kitchen.”
“Ha! No one hunts in my family, so no worries.”
They sat not saying anything for a few minutes, and then he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “How long before, you know, we can have, you know?”
“Sex? You can say it out loud, Tony,” she said, laughing. “I think it’s like six weeks.” When he winced, she added, “What do you think about that?”
“I think I know I won’t last that long,” he said, smoothing the blanket away from the baby’s face.
“There are ways,” she said, winking at him. “Other things I can do.”
“Woman, not in the nursery, please. I won’t be able to stand up for an hour now.”
Sliding his arm around her shoulder, he had never been so content, sitting in the NICU with his lover and his baby.
Chapter 10
A beautiful spring day in Southern California included blue skies, breezes that held a hint of the sea, the gentle whisper of wind through the palm trees, and the fragrance of a multitude of blooming flowers and bushes.
One of the many surprises they’d uncovered after they moved into the new house was the landscaping. Although it needed tidying up, the plantings were amazing. Now that Isabella was able to nurse, Bridget spent hours in the rocker by the window looking out over the colorful yard. Uncle Charlie had installed a fountain for a housewarming gift, and the comforting sounds seemed to calm the babies. When Isabella fell asleep, she’d lay her in Roberta’s old little wicker bassinette, picking up Flynn for a long cuddle in the rocking chair.
Switching from one baby to the other throughout the day in her rocker relaxed Bridget, and it didn’t take long for her to find her rhythm. Big Mike bought her a reading device, and she plugged into that, listening to book after book. When both babies were content, she’d putter around her new house, doing chores, taking care of her own needs. She’d become adept at showering, complete with hair washing and depilatory, in fifteen minutes, saving the rest of their nap time for her own siesta.
Baby Isabella’s sleep wasn’t ideal, but according to new friends Bridget had made online, mothers of children with Down syndrome, they said it wasn’t uncommon. Did any new baby have good sleep?
Friends and family had been wonderful. In those early days home from the hospital, still living at Roberta and Big Mike’s house, a steady stream of visitors held both babies and kept life interesting. When baby Isabella was a month old, Tina and George stopped by. It reminded Bridget that they owed Patty an apology. She’d find a way to ask Tina to have Patty get in touch. She didn’t want Roberta or Tony to have to get involved, although Tony owed her an apology as well. While Roberta greeted them, Bridget stayed back in the kitchen on her barstool, listening.
“So where’s the new baby?” Tina asked.
Roberta had arranged a corner of the living room where visitors could see the baby, with a place for gifts and flower arrangements and balloon bouquets. “Follow me. She’s in this little bassinette. All my kids slept in this old thing when they came home from the hospital.”
“Isn’t she adorable? Isabella Saint. No middle name. I love that idea. Elegant and to the point.”
Isabella rarely opened her eyes, but for some reason, perhaps Tina’s overpowering perfume, she opened her eyes.
“Oh! She’s a Mongoloid baby! Why didn’t you tell me? Oh my. You must be so upset!”
“Tina, don’t use that word, please. It’s so offensive. She has Down syndrome. And I’m not upset in the least. Look at that face! Adorable. She takes after my mother and Bridget’s mother! We have that strawberry blond hair.”
Tina looked at her with a smirk. “You meandidhave strawberry blond.”
“Oh, Tina, go to hell. If you’re going to insult my baby, mygrand-baby I mean, and me, leave, for God’s sake.”
“I’m sorry. I never knew anyone who had a baby like this.”
“You know, you are really a moron. You can barely tell unless the baby is awake. Her eyes are a little slanted.” Roberta looked at her critically. “You know, Tina, I think you knew about this before you came over. You’re purposely being rude because you’re jealous.”
“Ha! How would I have known?”
“This is a small town in some respects. We go to the same church. Probably some bigmouth hovering outside the confessional.”
“She knew,” George said, walking into the room. “Patty told us. She was upset when she found out, wanting to offer something to Bridget, but that would be weird.”
