ASSENT

Practical Parenting

(Mark's POV)

Whoever said that childbirth was beautiful clearly hadnt seen what I had. The most apt description would be to compare it to the opening scenes of 'Saving Private Ryan'. Yet here she was, our sqawling, red-faced bundle of joy. Although I was elated, I was beyond terrified, Emma on the otherhand, took to motherhood as though she held a PHD in it. Little Sukie Travis. She smashed into my life like a small, pink, demolition ball but I was besotted. The moment I had held my perfect little baby girl, I had turned to mush. Unable to stop the murmuring noises that slipped through my lips. Beaming as I held her. I can safely say, nothing compares to that moment. Its indescribably elating.

Although Em had been given the all clear the day after the whole birth thing, Sukie, possessing her mother's impatient streak, had made an appearance earlier than anticipated so therefore needed to stay in hospital for a while. That was no big deal, and was fine by me. I appreciated the time to get my head around the gargantuan shock of having to suddenly become a responsible parent.

Don't misunderstand me, I can do responsible as good as the next man. It comes with the territory when you work in policing, especially in my line. Trained operatives are thin on the ground meaning it's virtually impossible to kick back and watch the game with a beer. If that call comes through, you go. Responsibilities. Trouble is, it's a whole new spectrum of the term!

A few years ago I had a taste of parenting, in a very loose sense of the word, whilst working security in Iraq. I was briefly seconded to watch the kids of some oil sheik or whatever the hell he was. Holed up in some elite Eastern leisure complex. These kids never left their air conditioned suites, their eyes never once leaving the screen of their games console of choice. Texting to be fed, watered, dressed, and my personal favourite, for their beds to be turned down. If I live to be a million no child of mine will behave so abominably!

Why am I telling you this? I guess to illustrate my distinct lack of preparation for what was about to hit me. For one thing, babies don't sleep. They do not sleep, rather they seem to exist in a perpetual state of neediness, a nightmare I was totally unprepared for. Oh believe me, I was more than reliably informed that all they would ever do was sleep, eat and shit, in that order. They eat and shit alright, oh and they cry and they vom, and that is all they seem to do.

Sukie's first night home seemed to be like suspended animation. The slightest sound, the slightest stir, we leapt to action like seasoned pro's. This was a piece of cake, I could do this no worries. Until it became increasingly apparent that our beautiful Sukie-T needed feeding every three hours, on the dot. That doesn't sound all that bad until you take into the equation that it takes ninety damn minutes to get a feed down her. But that three hour loop starts the moment the first hunger stricken wail kicks up. You do the maths, we are currently managing 90 minutes between feeding frenzies. Hard enough during the day, night times are absolute hell.

I arranged a spell of annual leave from the moment Sukie put in an appearance. 10 days at home to get to know my daughter and try to take the reigns from Em when she allowed it (I'll rephrase that, IF she allowed it. Emma protested against her need to rest with some feral, innate mania!) So I dutifully raised when baby woke, sitting alongside Mummy as she expertly fed Princess, toying with the idea of going back to sleep. My hand a constant rub on Em's back. A gentle kiss to her cheek to comfort her tiredness, not that I myself was awake, no. I was slouched over leaning against my dear Em who did the same to me. A tired team effort.

By the second weekend, the cavalry briefly arrived in the shape of Beth, Emma's recently widowed mother. She took some of the weight off and allowed us a whole blissful Saturday nights sleep. I I had toyed with the thought of being a romantic but we ended up hitting the bed like two stones, unable to move through the drain. Trouble is, sleep seems to then crave more sleep and that Sunday was spent in a zombie like state, speaking only when absolutely necessary and found myself starring into open space often. I wondered how the hell I was going to cope with not only being back on call but also going back into college.

The first year was winding up for the summer and in a matter of weeks, papers would need to be marked and verified. Add to that the stream of summer tourists and their inevitable entourage of chaos, life would begin heating up very soon and I was already running on absolute empty. Still, reaching over to lift my tiny little girl from her dozing mother, she made it all completely worth it!

(Emma's POV)

I cannot believe I was so upset at the prospect of being pregnant, that I thought my world was ending! As I gaze at our beautiful little girl I feel as though I will never be able to tear my eyes away from her. I can see us both in her so clearly. Her mouth and eyes are my own but her unruly jet black hair that stands straight up off her head, swaying like long grass in the breeze is all Mark's. The facial expressions she manages are astounding.  If something disturbs her, her little eyebrows pull down in the perfect impression of an irritated frown. (Now that expression does come from Daddy!)  

Mark, I know, was as spellbound as I was.  He couldn't bring himself to put her down. If he was on his phone, she was rested over his shoulder. If he was watching a movie, she'd be sprawled across his chest, the rest of the time she'd be hung unceremoniously from his arms as he jiggled and rocked her (more for his comfort than hers I suspect!)  Life was blissful, tiring but lovely.

But, as per usually happens, all good things feel the need to come to an end and Mark eventually had to leave us for work.  It was a shock to all our systems as I was left home alone and holding the baby, literally, and Mark was forced to take back up the guise of Area Coroner and head out down south, on his first shout as a sleep deprived new dad.

Being home alone with a tiny newborn is a disquieting experience to say the very least.  Suddenly I began to question everything, as her incessant wailing echoed around the huge empty house. "What? What is it you need?  I fed you, changed you, winded you, what now?  You need to sleep, why fight it?"  It was futile, I knew that, trying to reason with a three week old yet you immediately attempt it in autopilot.  If I didn't know any different, I would have sworn she was pining for Mark!