Page 31 of How We Loved

December

2nd December

We walked up to campus so I could introduce Professor Johnson to Hope. Really, I needed to get out of the house. It’s all getting a bit claustrophobic. Mum is still there with us, doing helpful things like taking a sleeping Hope off my chest at three in the morning and placing her in the cot - because having her sleep on my chest is making a ‘rod for my own back’ whatever that means. Of course, Hope at only six days old knows the difference between my delicious milky-scented bosom and an Ikea mattress.

“You’re going to wake her.” I struggled to sit up, finding mum tiptoeing back out the door like an overgrown Tinkerbell.

Of course, Hope woke up. Which then meant I had to go through the whole use my nipple like a dummy rigmarole again to get her back to sleep. She won’t use a dummy, believe me I’ve tried, no matter what the baby books say. I’ll do anything for her to soothe herself to sleep. However, now Ben and I are already on dummy watch. Six days into parenting, and I can sit up in bed, keep my eyes closed as I pat around the cot for her dummy, and pop it back into her mouth, all without properly waking up. It’s like I’ve at last found my true life skill. And to think I thought it was drinking wine.

Before we left for campus, I popped in to see Tristan downstairs. “You’re going to have to tell her to go back home to Dad,” I told him.

He was scratching his head and staring at his laptop with a bit of a frazzled air about him. “What’s up?” I asked.

He turned, wild-eyed to me. “I don’t have any ideas. None.”

“Of course, you do.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.” There wasn’t much for me to say; it’s not like I’ve got any helpful advice for writing, so I left him to it. He stopped me at the door though. “You do your own dirty work and tell her to leave.”

He’s such a bloody arse.

Anyway, we went to campus, which was a bit surreal pushing a pram. I felt like a teen mom on that MTV program until Ben laughed and shook his head. “Can I point out that you’re nearly thirty, or are you going to take offense?”

Nearly thirty. God I haven’t thought about it like that. Nearly thirty!! And here I was pushing a buggy and feeling a little bit guilty about it because I still feel like a fifteen-year-old inside. Honestly, I’m blaming Taylor Swift. It’s because she makes me feel like a teenager still that I still act like one.

Professor Johnson gushed over Hope, and can’t lie, I was a little bit proud and gloaty as he did. He wanted a hug, and it seemed almost surreal to take her out of the pram and hand her over. When am I going to get used to her being here and not feel amazed every time I look at her? Maybe that never stops.

“Lilah. You look amazing,” he said.

“Really?” I looked down at myself. I’d managed to find an almost clean top to wear, but as I’m limited to breastfeeding clothes, which I didn’t buy that much of, my choice on clean washing was limited. Thankfully, this one only had a tiny splodge of tomato ketchup on. Oh okay, it wasn’t that tiny. “So, how’s it going?” He flicked his kettle on in the corner of his office while Ben stretched his legs out, looking for all the world like he might fall asleep in the stuffy room. To be fair, Ben took a lot of the strain last night; I only did the feeding. Ben did the walking around while she decided two in the morning should be awake time. I think he just wanted to hold her, so I had no guilt snuggling back down for some shut-eye.

“It’s easy.” I laughed and he looked at me with one of those expressions on his face--the has she been at the vodka expression. “No, really, she’s utterly perfect. She sleeps most of the time, feeds every two to three hours. We’re so lucky.”

Johnson was biting down on his bottom lip though, cheeks turning a tint of pink.

“What?” I asked.

“She’s only a few days old, isn’t she?”

“Six.” It’s honestly ridiculous how proud I sounded. Yes, I have a baby, and I’ve managed to get her to a whole six days old. Go me.

“She hasn’t found her lungs yet.”

“What do you mean?” Ben and I exchanged smug glances. “She cries; it’s not that bad.”

“Sure sure.” He turned and set about making the coffee, but I’m sure I heard a snort mingled with the sound of boiling water. “So, Lilah. Have you thought about when you might come back?” He held up his hand. “Although no one is rushing you. Take all the time you leave; your module credits are there and ready when you want to come back.”

“Well.” I looked at Ben, who nodded his head. “I think sooner rather than later. We’ve got it handled.”

Johnson looked between the two of us. “Sure sure, well let’s touch base in a few weeks shall we? See how you are getting on.”

I nodded, feeling a little smug that I’d managed to stump him with my awesome parenting skills.

“And Ben, what about you? You’ve left your band?” Johnson zeroed his attention onto Ben, but I found myself squirming in my seat. Ben leaving the band is still very much an unspoken discussion between us. When he came back in June, he said he just wanted to focus on being home and being with me, getting us back to where we needed to be. But that was five months ago, and now I know he’s just avoiding. I mean, hiring Tristan as his manager? What the fuck is that about?”

I fussed over Faith so I didn’t have to look at Johnson, just in case I have Career Wrecker written all over my face.

“The label has signed me as a solo artist,” Ben took a sip of his coffee and winced a little. I glanced at my waiting mug of tar-coloured coffee. Yep, didn’t drink that. According to the baby books, everything I eat and drink goes into my breast milk. The last thing I need is a baby high on caffeine. “They are happy to wait for me to record solo material while I spend some time with Hope.” Ben stared at her in my arms with hearts in his eyes. Then his gaze lifted slightly to my chest and widened slightly. Confused I glanced down. Oh my god. I had an absolutely enormous wet patch across my left tit. What the hell. It was breast milk. I was sitting in my professor's office, lactating. Now, that’s what breast pads are for. Shame I haven’t brought any... well, I have now, but hadn’t then. What the fuck was I meant to do? Announce, ‘oh oops, my tit’s leaked,’ and make a joke of it? Then I realized what the true purpose of a muslin square is. It’s not for burping or wiping up baby upchuck, although it does both of those marvellously. Nope. It’s to act as an impromptu scarf when your titties leak. Fair to say we made a quick exit after that. Ben gave me his sweatshirt to walk home in, which we did, rather fast, then he went to Asda to buy me a lifetime supply of breast pads. Judging by the amount he bought, he’s expecting me to breastfeed until Hope starts school.