SIERRA'S LEONE

MOTHER'S HOOD

The cry pierced Sierra's eardrums; Sierra sat up. Like a robot, she got out of bed and went to fetch Leone in her former office turned bedroom. Leone bawled, face reddened by the effort. Desperate, he stretched out his hands to grasp the woman like one does a lifeboat.

"Ssh, Leone, I am here. Sierra is with you."

Leone needs reassurance; the social worker was formel when she visited. Sierra now had the full picture; Leone had spent countless hours crying next to Cecile's lifeless body.

The image was what gave him nightmares, scared to be abandoned again at night; he cried for Sierra's comforting arms. In a new foyer and the obscurity of a new room, the baby felt lost. Only his guardian brought a smile to his face.

She carried him to her room; even though Jacob warned not to have Leone getting accustomed to the practice, Sierra could not do otherwise.

The woman's night sleep was short. When the alarm rang, six am, Sierra thought she was in a parallel world. She could not believe some men and women willingly accepted to sacrifice their slumber.

Sierra took Leone to the kitchen and placed him in the high chair. Sleepy-eyed, she automatically washed her hands, wiped them, and slung the cloth on her shoulder. She then grabbed a clean baby bottle, which she filled with the right dosage of mineral water.

Leone followed Sierra's movements and pulled the pack of Galia's first-age baby formula on the counter towards her. She then began to count the scoops of powdered milk. After Sierra shook and popped it in the microwave, she turned and looked at Leone, feeling grateful he was not one of the turbulent babies she sometimes saw in parks or grocery stores.

Leone only reacted when necessary; the baby did not abuse his cute status of being a cuddle bundle. His curiosity represented sixty percent of observation and forty percent of mischievous exploration. Thus for Sierra, Leone was somewhat an effortless child. Sierra did not hide from the truth, which was Leone's was Cecile's child, and that reason alone was enough for her to endure any trial the child would put her through. 

The child benefitted from the extra dose of patience that the woman usually dedicated to Vincent, her man. If the woman gave her whole to the child, one could only imagine what she left for Vincent.

After the diaper, Sierra discovered how to bathe the baby. Finally, for her, it was the most natural part. Leone loved the water if the baby spent his time giggling in Sierra's arms. The rest of the time, he was calm and almost solemn. Here in the water, Leone remained serene. The baby seemed to reflect his eyes on Sierra, one arm always clinging to hers.

Yes, since Leone's arrival Sierra ran about like a headless chicken, barely having time for herself, but she knew it was worth it. Sierra did not care about what could be said.

For her entourage, Sierra merely took care of her godchild. As Jacob explained, many thought she was a nanny or a stepmom. None of it bothered Sierra. All were empty words and thoughts which could not attain her.

"There you are all clean," Sierra took Leone out of the bath, "let's get you dressed, huh."

The social worker, Youtubers, and an armada of books said it was essential to speak with a baby. Despite appearances babies, understood a lot more than what we imagine. So Sierra talked, about everything even if it was just to explain what she would do next.

An hour later, they were ready; Sierra closed the door to the typhoon she left. Endossing the role of a mom did not transform her into a supernanny. Her organization did not change; on the contrary, things got messier. The woman had a hard time. Even following the memo her brother left on the fridge was a difficult task.

To get her head out of the water, Sierra wanted to hire a person to do the ironing at least, which was the devil's chore for her, but budget-wise, she could not. And Sierra refused to tap in on the assets Cecile left for her son. It wasn't only because she preferred keeping it for an emergency, but the woman did not want the Gauthier to hold this against her.

Mr. Wagner kept Sierra updated on their actions.

Mrs. Gauthier kept her word and attacked. They had no intention of leaving their grandson to be raised by her. Every inch of Sierra's life found itself scrutinized. The woman had to keep up a clean front. Sierra became paranoid, suspecting cashiers, neighbors even the postman of colluding with the Gauthiers as soon as they asked a question.

"Oh, wow, isn't he a cutie, baby? How old is he?"

"Six months, why do you ask?" Sierra, suspicious, barked at the lady at the crossing.

The woman frowned in stupefaction," it's just he's cute, I mean-."

"Cute, huh? Sierra sneered and crossed.

How rude, she thought, forgetting that there were people outside of the Gauthier conspiracy who genuinely found Leone adorable.

Sierra dropped Leone of at daycare; she lingered in front of the door to see the assistant pose Leone with the other children.

Unlike the others, Leone sat quiet and observed. The other babies played with toys while Leone sat and rubbed Sierra's hankie while sucking his thumb.

The assistants told Sierra Leone did not mingle with other kids easily, but Sierra had no choice. Jacob could not keep him, and she could not stay at home either.

"Sorry, Leone."

Sierra walked, no, she ran away to catch her bus. Every day it was the same charge of emotions that invaded her. Sierra felt guilty about leaving the child, but this was a must. Almost every parent lived the situation, and everyone survived. She, too, would get over it, "come on, Sierra, you have to get in a work mode now."