Padfootagain

Sonnet LXXXI

And now you're mine. Rest with your dream in my dream. Love and pain and work should all sleep, now. The night turns on its invisible wheels, and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber. No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go, we will go together, over the waters of time. No one else will travel through the shadows with me, only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon. Your hands have already opened their delicate fists and let their soft drifting signs drop away; your eyes closed like two gray wings, and I move after, following the folding water you carry, that carries me away. The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny. Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all.

Pablo Neruda

Saying that you were stressed out was an understatement.

You couldn’t help it. You trusted your in-laws, of course, you would trust them with your life, but it felt so wrong to leave your daughter to them for the night…

You knew that Raine was right when she told you that you needed to get better care of yourself now. Caoimhe was already three months old, and you needed to start thinking about you again. Since Andrew had gone back to work, you had stepped in even more to take care of Caoimhe, but Raine was right. You were a mother, but you were a woman first and foremost, your own individual being. And if taking care of your daughter brought you all the love and joy you needed, it wasn’t healthy to be unable to leave her for more than a couple of hours. Eventually, you would go back to work as well, and you needed to start getting used to leaving her care to someone else. Besides, you were lucky. Andrew’s parents were retired, and they had offered to take care of Caoimhe, once you would be at Trinity again. That meant that you didn’t have to think about daycare, at least not for a while.

And tonight was the perfect occasion. It was Valentine’s Day - or the weekend following Valentine’s day, to be more precise - and spending some time to relax with your husband without Caoimhe sounded like heaven. You would have lied had you pretended that you weren’t worried about your relationship now that Caoimhe had turned your world upside-down. Andrew was still the sweetest man you had met, and still showed you his love through a million tiny gestures, but maintaining a healthy relationship required moments spent alone, time given to the other, attention paid to your lover, and you were worried about Caoimhe taking too much space in your lives on the long run. For now, you reckoned that it was normal for both of you to spend all your time with her, she was a baby after all, she needed care 24/7. Still… your love for Andrew was what had caused all of this, the centre of your happy personal life… you needed to nurture it.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror of your bathroom, above the sink. Your body kept on changing, and it still threw you off every time you looked at yourself. It was like… the image the mirror sent back wasn’t what you thought you looked like. Your breasts were still swollen and particularly sensitive because of breastfeeding, you had not lost all the weight you had taken on while pregnant yet, although your baby bump was gone for good. You hadn’t suffered too much of hair loss after giving birth, and for that you were graceful, but your hair still looked tired in comparison to the lush strands you had before. Your thighs and belly were now marked with thin lines, running across your skin, stretched-marks that hadn’t been there before.

Your body had changed so much… was it really yours? And after sharing it with your daughter, after spending months feeling her grow there, in your guts, how could you consider this body yours again? Solely yours?

It seemed you couldn’t find an answer to these questions, not on your own at least. Maybe you should ask for help… You felt almost ashamed for searching for psychiatrists on your laptop a couple of times. You weren’t depressed, after all, you were just… not quite you…

You were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

“You’re alright in there?” Andrew asked, worry evident on his tone.

“Yeah, yeah…”

“You’re sure? You’ve been in there for a while… you’re okay? You’re not bleeding, are you?”

You quickly reassured him, thinking back to the panic in his eyes when you had started bleeding through discharges a few weeks after giving birth. An amount that made you worried enough to talk to Andrew about it, ask him if he thought you ought to go see a doctor. His answer was a panicked look and a reach for his coat. You had given him such a fright that day, he still hadn’t fully recovered from it.

“I’m fine… just taking my time to get ready.”

“Oh, alright. Take your time, then. Sorry for bothering you.”

Before you could argue, you heard his footsteps moving away from the door, and you shook yourself out of your thoughts. You needed to get ready.

You put on your underwear, stealing a glance in the mirror again. Lace lingerie. A new set, as your size had changed since your pregnancy. Dark red. Very erotic, by all standards…

You struggled to swallow back the lump in your throat. Why were you so nervous? It was Andy, you were absolutely safe with him. Still… you hadn’t had sex since Caoimhe’s birth. Beyond the recommended 6 to 8 weeks needed for your body to heal, you hadn’t felt ready for that. Mostly because of the way you felt in your body. Like it was alien, almost, like it wasn’t quite yours. You still struggled to feel comfortable for Andrew to see you naked, so having sex… that was a whole new step. It was strange, to feel like you were back to scare one on that, back to being nervous and shy before him…

But you had given birth 14 weeks ago, which meant that you were in the clear medically speaking, and had been for a while. Besides, you wanted your husband, you were simply nervous, and struggling with feeling like you again. But tonight was Valentine’s day. It was the perfect occasion to shift the mood to romance.

You thought about how to get the mood right while you put on your black dress. You knew Andrew wouldn’t make a move, it was something you had discussed during your pregnancy. You were the one to take the initiative to bring sex back. Andrew was worried about you feeling pressured, or misreading some signals and thinking you were ready when you weren’t yet. So, he had told you that after Caoimhe’s birth, he wouldn’t make a move. You would be the one to choose when you were ready, both physically and emotionally. And he had held true to his words. If he showed you affection, he had built up a clear line he had never crossed. You knew he still wanted you though. You caught him staring sometimes, and then blushing like crazy, saw his eyes linger on your chest, heard him shifting uncomfortably when you were cuddling. Still… your body, your rules. You loved him so much for that respect…

But tonight was the night! Tonight, you would get fucking laid, goddamn it! Yes, you were a mammy now, but you were also a woman, you were your own person, a woman who desperately wanted to have sex with her hot husband, and there was nothing wrong with that! And yes, your body had changed, but it was still you…

… right?

You shook yourself again, coloured your lips with red, and headed out of the bathroom. Andrew was waiting for you downstairs, playing with your dog. He was wearing a brown suit that made him look like absolute sin, his hair half-up…

You heard the way his breath caught when he saw you, and he had to clear his throat to summon back his voice.

“Erm… hey, love,” he whispered. “Wow… you look gorgeous…”

“Thank you,” you grinned, reading in the awe in his eyes that he meant it. “You look really good too…”

“Thanks,” he blushed, but smiled.

He offered you his open hand.

“Shall we, then?”

Slowly, you nodded, placing your palm in his, the way you always did.

“We shall.”

You were grateful to Raine and John for sending you updates during the evening. You felt it in Andrew as well, the unease that came with Caoimhe not being with you. But these short texts and cute pictures eased both of your minds. You tried not to talk only of Caoimhe during the night, though. The conversation drifted from Trinity, Andrew’s research, your current read, to that film you wanted to watch. The restaurant was delicious, Italian food to its finest, and Andrew couldn’t refrain a laugh when you moaned at your first bite of tiramisu. It felt strange, but in a good way. Like you were back to before Caoimhe, laughing together and chatting for hours. You were chatting on your way to the restaurant, during your meal, and during the drive home. You were talking about your feelings and politics, and silly things on the radio. You could always talk about everything with him, and he always listened, even when you were silly. You had never felt like you had to compress a day into a summary, had to filter your thoughts to keep only the interesting part for him to hear. You could tell him anything. One of the things that made you feel safe, made you feel seen, with him…

You went home straight after the restaurant; you were both tired, and longed to spend some quiet time together, in the warmth of your own space. Andrew was still talking about this song he wanted to learn to play on the guitar when he walked down the length of your hallway, not quite noticing you weren’t following him.

But you were held frozen by the door. He looked so good like this: brown pants, white shirt, brown jacket, hair held up in a half-bun. You shamelessly stared at his arse as he walked. Damn… you were cooked…

Finally, Andrew turned around, raising an eyebrow at you. It wasn’t fair, how handsome he looked now, in the warm light of your home, with his gorgeous hazel eyes searching through your soul, his short beard you knew felt divine on your skin, the sharpness of his cheekbones you longed to pepper with kisses…

“You’re alright, love?”

He tilted his head, and you knew he was calculating what to say next. His words came back to your mind.

After you give birth, I won’t make a move. I don’t want to pressure you. You’re the one setting the pace for us to be intimate again, in this way. You know I’ll wait for as long as you need…

How could you get him to take this bloody shirt off?

Slowly, you made your way to him. Steps slow, unhurried, but your stare seemed to say it all, because his expression shifted, from curious and cautious to wide-eyed and blushing. You noticed how he struggled to swallow, saw the movement of his Adam’s apple.

You didn’t notice Elwood entering the hallway, until Andrew firmly gave him an order.

“Elwood, go to bed. Bed, now.”

He punctuated the order with a swift movement of his hand towards Elwood’s comfortable bed, and the dog obeyed.

You stood there for a moment, barely a breath away from him, but not touching. Close, but not close enough…

He cleared his throat.

“Love…”

But he fell silent.

“Yes?” you encouraged him, breathless already.

The air was electric, the tension making goosebumps scatter across your arms. How crazy, how he could still make you feel the same after years of relationship.

Burning, burning…

“I…”

He cleared his throat again, his voice had deepened, lowered by an octave. It made your heart jump against your ribcage.

“Am I misreading things or…”

You gave him a mischievous smile.

“Depends on what you’re reading…”

He raised a suggestive eyebrow. But instead of answering, you merely rested your hands on his chest, and seemed to steal from him any ability to speak by that simple gesture. Slowly, you moved your hands across his torso, both of your breaths catching, while you peeled his brown jacket from his shoulders.

“You’re so handsome…” you confessed in a breath.

But before you could add anything, his lips had crashed into yours, and he was kissing you so desperately, stealing your breath, your heart, your sanity…

Weeks of building tension seemed to suddenly burst into flames, while Andrew pressed your body against the nearest wall. His hands were roaming already, ridding you of your coat, touching every part of you he could reach, kissing you desperately…

You winced when he reached your chest.

“Careful…” you warned him, and he froze.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered into your mouth, but you shook your head.

“Just… they’re painful sometimes, be careful.”

“Okay…”

Before he could say anything else, you pulled him down by the collar to kiss him again. You wanted to devour him, to slip into his skin, to feel closer, closer…

You opened the buttons of his shirt, hands shaking with want making you clumsy. He all but tore the remaining buttons, and got rid of his shirt.

Before you could tease him about him ruining one of his shirts, he was holding your face in both his hands and kissing you again, and again, and again, deeply, until none of you could breathe…

His hair was a mess already, and so was yours. You secured his glasses on the closest piece of furniture, while he unzipped your dress.

And all of a sudden, the nerves were back.

He felt it. Felt you tensing in his arms, the way you held onto his arms more tightly. He pressed his forehead to yours.

“Do you want us to stop?” he whispered.

“No,” your answer came out firm and certain. “I want you.”

“Do you want to slow down?”

But you shook your head.

“I want you,” you repeated.

“But?” he insisted.

You bit on your lip, looking for the right words.

“I’m nervous.”

“Why?” he asked, his voice gentler now, as he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“My body changed a lot… and it doesn’t really feel like mine anymore. And if I don’t like my own body, will you like it?”

He stared at you then, down into your soul, a slight frown on his brow, while you nervously bit on your lip again.

He grazed his knuckles across your cheekbone, made your heart flutter.

“I love you,” he answered, and the intensity in his gaze left no argument possible, no wavering of uncertainty. “I will always love you. And you are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen…”

“Even now?”

He smiled, tender and twisting a knife into your heart with all the awe oozing from it.

“Always.”

He kissed your forehead.

“Let me show you,” he whispered into your skin, making you shiver. “Let me in, my love. Let me…”

You nodded, held onto the back of his neck to bring his lips back on yours. But he broke away too soon to guide you upstairs, to your bedroom.

When he unzipped your dress, you let him this time, allowed him to let the piece of clothing fall onto the ground in a quiet thud. You heard his breath catching in his throat when he stared at your lingerie. He had turned on the light on the ceiling, but you quickly moved to turn it off… only for Andrew to light both of your bedside lamps instead. You caught him uncomfortably palming himself through his pants, before he had closed the space between you again.

He guided you to the bed, let you settle on the pillows while he got rid of his brown pants, and you couldn’t help but stare at his boxers when he kneeled before you on the bed. He leaned closer, hovering above your body, so close you could feel the heat from his skin radiating straight through your bones, and yet he wasn’t touching you yet, driving you insane with want.

“Baby…” you whispered, and he pressed his forehead to yours in response, while you let your hands roam down the expanse of his chest.

“Let me show you,” he breathed. “Let me show you how much I love you… how much I want you… fuck, love… do you trust me?”

“I do,” you answered in a whisper.

There was never a power dynamic in the bedroom. You were equal in all aspects of your relationship, but you were happy to let him take the lead now, happy to let him slowly undress you, happy to let him grab at your waist and thighs and gently caress your chest. He dropped careful kisses over your chest, and your head spun when his tongue trailed the valley of your breasts…

You wanted to cry, and burst into flames at the same time. His hands worked every new curve, memorizing them through touch, it seemed, while his lips lingered on every new trace, every new line and bump and dip that had appeared onto your skin. Like he couldn’t get enough. Like worship…

When he flung your legs over his shoulders, your breath caught with anticipation. And when he made you break over his mouth, all doubts and hesitations were gone for good. You looked down at his eyes, darkened with hunger as he stared back at you, his tongue still inside you, and you wondered how he could do this… make you feel truly worshipped…

He kissed his way up your body again while you floated over the bed, breath laboured and head spinning. He kissed the space behind your ear, gently bit onto your earlobe.

“You’re okay?” he asked, one last checking in.

But you merely wrapped your legs around his waist in response, and you exchanged a genuine grin, before you were one again.

It took a few minutes for you to be comfortable, childbirth was no joke… but Andrew was patient, and once you were panting under him again, you soon found back that perfect dance you had choreographed together over the years. Sweet, intimate, slow… making you see stars with every thrust, at the perfect angle, with the perfect pressure…

Perfect… perfect…

You moved in sync like your souls were as bound as your bodies, and you reckoned that they were, if these things really existed. If you had a soul, it belonged to him, and if he had a soul, it was yours and had always been…

Seoithín seothó

Seoithín seothó,

Mo stór é mo leanabh

Mo sheod gan chealg,

Mo chuid den tsaol mór

Seoithín seothó,

Nach mór é an taitneamh

Mo stóirín ina leaba

Ina chodladh gan bhrón

A leanbh, mo chléibh,

Go n-éirí do chodladh leat

Slán agus sonas

A choíche 'do chomhair

Seo beannacht Mhic Dé

Agus téagar a Bhuime leat

Téiríg a chodladh

Gan bíogadh go ló

Ar mhullach an tí

Tá síoga geala

Fá chaoin ré an earraigh

Ag imirt a spóirt

Is seo iad aniar

Chun glaoigh ar mo leanbh

Le mian é tharraingt

Isteach sa lios mór

Goirm tú, a chroí,

Ní bhfaighfidh siad do mhealladh

Le brí a gcleas

Ná le binneas a gceoil

Táimse led' thaoibh

Ag guí ort na mbeannacht

Seoithín, a leanbh,

Ní himtheo' tú leo

(Curfá)

Ós comhair mo lao,

Go míochair ceanúil

Tá díl-roisc aingeal

Ag faire ina threo

Le mór-ghrá dian

Á iarraidh chun bealaigh

Mar b'aoibhne flaithis

Dá raghadh sé leo

A stór mo chroí

Luigh siar i do leaba

Taobh le do Mham

Is ea fanfair go fóill

Ní mór liom do Dhia

Mo shiamsa 'gus m'aiteas

Mo riocht ar talamh

I dteannta mo bhróid

Seoithín seothó,

Mo stór é mo leanabh

Mo sheod gan chealg,

Mo chuid den tsaol mór

Seoithín seothó,

Nach mór é an taitneamh

Mo stóirín ina leaba

Ina chodladh gan bhrón

English translation (website ‘Songs in Irish’)

Hushaby, Hush

Seoithín seothó,

My treasure is my child

My jewel without a sharp point

My part of the big world

Seoithín seothó

Isn't it a great joy

My little treasure in his bed

Asleep without sorrow

Sleep well, child of my heart

May you always be

Safe and happy

Forever be yours

May God bless you

You reinforce nurse members

Téiríg sleep

Without going bíogadh day

At the top of the house

There are bright fairies

Playing and disporting

Under the soft moonlight

Here they come now

To call to my child

Wishing to lure him

Into the big fairy fort

Bravo, sweetheart

They will not succeed in enticing you

With the cleverness of their tricks

Or the sweetness of their music

I am by your side praying

For blessings on you

Seoithín, little one

You will not go with them

Before my darling

Tenderly and kind

The loving eyes of angels

Are looking towards him

With great, strong love

Enticing him away

For heaven would be more beautiful

To them if he does

Love of my heart

Lie back in your bead

You will stay a while

Beside your mam

Nothing to me before God

Are my sport and pleasure

My earthly shape

Along with my pride

Seoithín seothó

My treasure is my child

My jewel without a sharp point

My part of the big world

Seoithín seothó

Isn't it a great joy

My little treasure in his bed

Asleep without sorrow

There were many things that amazed you as a mother. How adorable your daughter could look, how bright her smile was, how your body could produce so much milk in just one day, how funny it was to see that disgusted look on Andrew’s face every time your daughter puked on him…

… but the power of a baby’s lungs was, by far, the most surprising thing of all.

How could such a tiny being make so much noise? All the fucking time…

You couldn’t open your eyes yet, you were too exhausted. By your side, across the mattress, you heard Andrew groaning, and then shuffling around.

“What time is it?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

He groaned again.

“Not feeding time,” was his only answer. “Go back to sleep.”

You reached across the bed, your fingers landing on his back, and you gave the flesh a gentle squeeze as a silent thank you.

As you were breastfeeding, you preferred to get up at night to feed your daughter yourself, even if bottles of milk were safely in the fridge. It also made for a natural pattern during the night. You got up to feed her, and otherwise Andrew took care of her. If she cried too much, you alternated throughout the night, so you would both get the same amount of rest. Now that Andrew was working again, he needed to sleep as much as he could too.

Andrew got up after a couple of minutes, gathering the strength to lift his body off the mattress. He kicked away the sheets, spent a few seconds sitting on the edge of the bed while his head was spinning. Meanwhile, the wails continued.

She really had the lungs of a singer that one…

“Yes, yes…I’m coming… Jesus Christ…” he mumbled under his breath as he walked over to the crib on the other side of the bedroom.

He gently picked up his daughter, before walking out of the room and closed the door behind him to let you sleep in peace. He headed for the nursery to change Caoimhe’s diaper.

“Shhh… you’re alright,” he soothed your daughter as she kept on crying, although she wasn’t shouting anymore, now that she was in her father’s arms. “I know, I know,” he cooed, “you’re uncomfortable, but I’ll take care of that.”

Lucky for both of you, Caoimhe was beginning to sleep for longer periods of time now. At night, she mostly woke up every four hours, and even if she was too small to sleep in her own room, it gave both of you a more regular sleep pattern too. Not a great one, but it was getting better.

Andrew changed the dirty diaper, his daughter still crying a little, her eyes filled with tears and face red. He gave her a pacifier, which soothed her down.

She hiccupped and extended her arms towards Andrew, who cooed gently at her.

“Wait a sec, I need to clean this up first,” he said, throwing the diaper away.

She looked adorable in her pistachio pyjama with a little fox and some autumn leaves embroidered on the front, dreamland written under the pattern. She was so big already… his tiny baby girl…

She started crying again, the pacifier falling from her mouth, and Andrew heaved a tired sigh.

“I’m right here.”

He picked her up, tried to give her back the pacifier but she didn’t want it. Instead, she started wailing again.

“Shhh… Caoimhe, it’s alright. Stop crying, my love… Come on, angel…”

He walked across the room, swaying back and forth to soothe her. After a few minutes, he started humming. She calmed down enough to accept the pacifier again. Outside, darkness was all there was, ink and shadows without stars. Quiet and unmoving, a still night, the kind that could stop the passing of time. But the lights in the nursery were warm and soothing.

His voice was deep and quiet as he started singing softly, an old Irish lullaby his mother used to sing to him when he was a child. Back when he was still afraid of thunder and crawled into his parents’ bed at night because of bad dreams.

As the verses rolled through the night, Gaeilge replaced Caoimhe’s cries across the house. She hiccupped a couple of times, and then grew quiet, but for the sound of the pacifier in her mouth.

Nach mór é an taitneamh Mo stóirín ina leaba Ina chodladh gan bhrón A leanbh, mo chléibh, Go n-éirí do chodladh leat Slán agus sonas

His voice was rough with exhaustion, but it seemed enough. Enough to calm his daughter, soothe her and make her feel safe again. He dropped a soft kiss on the top of her head before starting from the top again, moving across the room and rocking her gently.

Sometimes, Andrew didn’t know what to do as a father, panicked at the thought of messing up and not being good enough for the treasure his daughter was. But then, he would pick her up and naturally rock her just the way she needed, or sing to her gently enough to make her stop crying. It had to mean that he was doing something right…

She wasn’t falling back asleep, but she was calm again. She nuzzled into his tee-shirt, grabbed at the fabric with her tiny hands.

“I’m right here, my angel. Shhhh…”

He started singing again, his voice barely more than a whisper, a low, deep rumble that filled the nursery with warmth.

Ar mhullach an tí Tá síoga geala Fá chaoin ré an earraigh Ag imirt a spóirt

No, maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he couldn’t be doing so bad, because his daughter was safe in his arms, and held onto him, and longed for his embrace. Nothing would ever take her away. He’d love her till his last breath…

Ní bhfaighfidh siad do mhealladh Le brí a gcleas Ná le binneas a gceoil Táimse led' thaoibh Ag guí ort na mbeannacht Seoithín, a leanbh, Ní himtheo' tú leo

Her hold on his shirt loosened and he thought she was falling back asleep, but then she stirred again. When he looked at the pink clock on the wall, it was almost feeding time. He didn’t want to wake you, it made no sense, he was already up. He’d give her a bottle.

But when he turned around, you were standing by the door, dark bags under your eyes and hair messed up by sleep, or lack of it. You were smiling though, something emotional in your eyes as they shone in the dim light.

“What are you doing up? You’re alright?” asked Andrew, barely over a whisper.

You nodded.

“You’ve been gone for an hour, I was beginning to worry.”

“She’s fussy. But singing worked quite well. I think she was falling back asleep, but hunger is upon us once more.”

You chuckled, started to lift your shirt.

“You should go back to sleep,” Andrew stopped you. “I’ll give her a bottle, I’m already up anyway.”

“I can feed her.”

“I’ve been up for a while, I’m wide awake. And you’re barely standing. Go back to sleep, my love.”

You seemed on the verge of crying, and Andrew frowned at the sight, while readjusting Caoimhe’s position in his arms, as she wriggled around. Instead of holding her to his chest, he moved her to rest on his forearm, tugged in the crook of his elbow, and looked down at her adorable little face. She was frowning, and seemed highly grumpy. It made him chuckle.

“This one’s in a terrible mood whenever she’s a tad bit hungry,” he grinned fondly at his daughter. “Like her mammy.”

“Hey!” you protested, but he saw the way you dried your eyes on your sleeve.

He frowned at the sight.

“Hey… love… you’re okay?”

But you nodded, and moved closer, snuggling in his side and burying your face in his shoulder, while he wrapped his free arm around you.

“I just… I’m sorry, I’m really tired,” you mumbled into his shirt.

“Go back to bed, love… I’ve got Caoimhe, it’s alright. She’s alright.”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just… seeing you like this, singing to her in Gaeilge, and holding her, and kissing her head and just…”

You looked up at him with so much love in your eyes, he felt overwhelmed by it.

“I’m just so lucky to have you. You’re such a good dad… we’re so lucky to have you…”

But he shook his head, growing emotional too now, and blinking tears away.

“That’s nonsense, I have no idea what I’m doing…”

“You’re doing amazing nonetheless.”

You looked down at your daughter, and then up to Andrew again.

“I feel so lucky…” you breathed, making him chuckle as he brushed a strand of your hair out of your face.

“I feel lucky too.”

But Caoimhe interrupted your moment, starting to cry again. Andrew chuckled.

“Alright, Miss Grumpy Pants! Christ… can’t even have a heart to heart with your mammy anymore…”

You laughed at that, but Andrew ushered you back to bed.

“I’ll give her a bottle, go back to sleep.”

You finally yielded, heading to your bedroom while Andrew was heading downstairs.

He prepared a bottle, tested the temperature on the inside of his wrist. He was singing again, soothing Caoimhe enough to make her wait for her meal to be ready.

A stór mo chroí Luigh siar i do leaba Taobh le do Mham Is ea fanfair go fóill Ní mór liom do Dhia Mo shiamsa 'gus m'aiteas Mo riocht ar talamh I dteannta mo bhróid

He sat down to feed her, placing the bottle against her lips, and she eagerly drank up. He paused a few times, going slowly. It was such a special moment, one that he treasured every time he fed her. You were the one able to make her food, but he was grateful for these extra bottles you pumped regularly. Holding his daughter like this, feeding her… He couldn’t explain it, but it was such a magical moment, such a quiet one, too. He felt so connected with her then…

Once she was done eating, he made her burp and readied her to go back to sleep. As he walked up the stairs, he was singing again. He had barely walked up and down the corridor a couple of times that she was out like a light, peacefully sleeping in his arms. He watched her sleep for a little longer, before he would walk in your bedroom and put her back into her crib, and grab for himself a few hours of sleep, too. Instead, he rocked her gently, standing in the middle of the corridor, and kept on singing, letting an unbearable love consume his whole being. His daughter… his little baby girl…

Don't Go Far Off

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --

because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because

then the little drops of anguish will all run together,

the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift

into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;

may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.

Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far

I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,

Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

Pablo Neruda

Andrew had lost the habit of being awakened by a blaring alarm clock. In the past few weeks, he had grown accustomed to waking to Caoimhe crying, to you shifting in bed when getting up, to grabbing any minute of rest he could while his daughter finally slept.

This morning though, his alarm clock rang. Andrew was going back to work. Your maternity leave was still on-going, you would remain with your daughter for several months, still, and that made him feel better about leaving. And yet… he had never wanted to stay home more in his life…

He shushed his alarm, slowly stood up and moved to Caoimhe’s crib, checking if she had woken up. But his baby was still fast asleep, at the foot of her parents’ bed. She looked so peaceful, in her adorable pink pyjamas. He checked her breathing, but all was fine…

He moved back to the bed, readjusted the covers over your frame. You hadn’t woken up either, and he dropped a tender kiss to your forehead before walking out of the room.

Christ, was he exhausted… How long had he slept tonight? Four? Maybe five hours?

He took his time to drink a coffee, eat an orange and some buttered bread, before taking a shower, hoping the water would wake up his cloudy brain. He didn’t want to go to work… as he let the water run down his frame, its warmth sipping through his skin to his very bones, Andrew realised that in all his life, he had rarely wanted anything less than go to work today. How could he? You and Caoimhe were here, at home, and you could be needing him… and he wouldn’t be here to help. What if something happened and he wasn’t there? How much he would miss his little bundle of joy, his little angel…

He was barely stepping out of the shower, drying his long limbs with a towel, that he heard Caoimhe crying. He hurried his movements, but then the cries seemed to shift through the house, and he guessed that you had picked her up and walked downstairs with her. Given the time, she was probably waking up for a feed…

Andrew clumsily hurried in his clothes, quickly tied up his hair. He checked the time… he was fifteen minutes late already… Christ, he was a desperate case…

Andrew hurried down the stairs, and even if he was late, he took the time to look for you. Caoimhe’s cries had receded, the reason obvious once he found you sitting in the kitchen, your daughter’s lips glued to your nipple.

You smiled up at Andrew.

“Have a nice day, honey.”

Your voice was hoarse and tired, but your smile gentle, loving. Andrew remained glued to his spot by the door. He struggled to swallow.

“Do you need anything before I leave? Will you be okay?”

“We’ll be just fine. Don’t worry about us. Besides, your mom is spending the afternoon here to help me with a bunch of chores… we’ll be just fine, won’t we, my angel?” you added, looking down at your daughter, still feeding with such hunger, it seemed you hadn’t fed her in days.

Still, Andrew drank up a few more precious seconds, stole a moment longer staring at you feeding your daughter, with so much care in your eyes and hands he felt overwhelmed by it. God, you were such an amazing mother…

He walked over to you, stole a sweet kiss from your lips that made you giggle, before he brushed his knuckle across his daughter’s chubby cheek.

“Be nice, today, huh? Don’t fuss around too much. Be nice to your mammy…”

You took his hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“We’ll be fine, honey. You have to go. I know you’d rather stay here… but you have to go. It’s just a few hours, and we’ll be here when you come home.”

Slowly, Andrew nodded. And despite his deepest want, his most visceral need, he tore himself from you and Caoimhe, walked across the kitchen, the hallway, and left.

When he entered Trinity, he still had forty minutes before his first class, at nine sharp. It was less than what he had wished for to get everything ready, check his emails… but it would do. Besides, Lydia had asked him to go straight to her office when he arrived. A new assistant professor had arrived, and settled in his office in your stead. She wanted to introduce her to him herself. One more reason for Andrew to hate this day already… a new colleague using your desk?

Andrew aimed his steps straight to his boss’s office, and Lydia was indeed sitting at her desk when he knocked on her door, not waiting for permission to enter.

“Ha! Andy! How are you? How is paternity treating you? Pretty rough, I see…” she added with a bright laugh, shaking Andrew’s hand. “Your daughter’s still struggling with her nightly routine?”

“Routine? What routine? And what is sleep, again?”

They both laughed.

“We’re okay. Y/N’s okay, and Caoimhe is… the most beautiful, amazing little girl in the world. We’re very happy.”

Lydia offered him a kind smile.

“Well… I’m sure you would have rather stayed with your family today, but I’m afraid you are needed here as well.”

They spent about ten minutes talking about the semester, his classes and research. Eventually, they walked over to his office, and the conversation shifted towards Andrew’s new colleague.

“Aoife is specialized in Medieval literature. I hope you two can get along… she’s a little… overconfident, I would say. But capable, definitely, and her research is of the highest quality.”

Andrew nodded, and let Lydia guide him inside his own office.

Indeed, he found a blond woman sitting at your desk. She had changed where you used to put your pencils, the pile of articles you were reading, the mess you always made with your students’ essays. Her desk was tidy, and definitely not yours.

Her blue coat hung by the door, books about medieval literature had replaced your feminist collection. Everything had changed…

She stood up, and he studied her in greater detail. Thin, dressed in an uptight suit that made her look severe. Her hair was golden and held in a ponytail. But there was something wild in her gaze, something… overconfident, yes. Andrew could agree with Lydia’s description straightaway.

“Andrew, this is our new colleague, Aoife. Aoife, this is Andrew, who’s sharing your office. As I was telling you, he’s just coming back from his paternity leave, after welcoming a little girl. Whom he has showed me no picture of yet…”

Andrew chuckled, and took out his phone, easily finding a picture of his daughter. His phone was filled with those anyway…

He showed his colleagues his baby girl, and grinned at their adorable ‘awwww’s in response. Yeah… that was the Caoimhe effect, indeed.

Right on cue, Colm knocked on the open door of the office. He had come to visit a couple of times at your place, being a close friend, and he had already met your daughter, but still, he stole a glimpse at your baby with a fond smile.

“Well, well, well… look at the proud dad over here! How do you feel about coming back to work?”

Andrew heaved a sigh.

“Strange… I feel like I should be home with them. But… I can’t deny that now that I’m here, I’m quite excited to teach again.”

They talked together until it was time for Andrew to teach his class. And while he walked downstairs to the classroom… he thought back about this new colleague of his. Aoife… he couldn’t say she wasn’t nice but there was something off with her… he couldn’t quite put his finger on it…

Andrew drove too fast that evening to get home, but he couldn’t care. He had asked for updates on Caoimhe all day, and you had kindly replied with tons of pictures. He hoped he wasn’t too annoying, but he couldn’t help it.

He all but sprinted from his car to your front door, hurrying to reach you. He unlocked the door, and cried through the house as he got rid of his shoes.

“I’m home, love!”

“In the living room,” you answered, and he hurried to you.

You were holding Caoimhe in your arms, a book set on your knees. Elwood was snoring at your feet, right on the carpet, while the fire in the hearth crackled. What a sight…

Andrew walked closer, his heart in his chest tightening, while he let himself fall by your side. A look at his daughter told him she was wide awake.

“She’s not sleepy… but she won’t let me put her down… A real leech today.”

You didn’t seem to mind though, not with the way you grinned at your daughter. Andrew wrapped an arm around you to draw you closer, before burying his face into your hair.

“I’ve missed you,” he simply stated, but you seemed to understand in his trembling tone all the extent of his feelings.

“We’ve missed you too. I’m glad you’re home.”

He hummed, closing his eyes.

“How was our little angel today?”

“Okay… she napped, ate well… but for the past hour she gets upset if I put her down.”

He stared at his daughter, held her tiny hand, caressed her chubby fingers. How much love could his heart hold for her… there seemed to be no limit…

“How are you feeling today? What did you do?”

You smiled, and he was surprised to find gratefulness there. Maybe you had doubted something, but he couldn’t think of what… Since he’d been home, he had merely held you close and asked about your day… common things…

“I’m fine. A little tired, but I’m okay. Your mam helped me with laundry and vacuuming. And this little one kept me busy, for sure!”

You exchanged a grin.

“How was your day?” you asked, before kissing his cheek a couple of times. “How did your classes go?”

“My classes went fine. It’s rough to get back to reading articles and stuff when I feel like I should be home, with you and Caoimhe… but I’ll get used to it, I guess… It just… it feels wrong to be there, while you’re both here.”

“I can imagine. I don’t know how I’m going to survive leaving her for full days… but we’ll get used to it.”

“Oh, and there’s someone new in my office. An assistant professor, called Aoife. She studies medieval literature.”

“You don’t seem… overjoyed…”

“It was so strange to look up and see her at your desk. I’ll need a while to get used to that. It feels… wrong. Besides, I don’t know… I feel like there’s something off with her. I wouldn’t be able to tell you what it is, but… I don’t know…”

“You’ve got a bad feeling?”

“Kind of, yeah… but maybe I just need to get used to having someone other than you in the office. Maybe it’s just that… I was missing you.”

You kissed him on the lips, nuzzled in his neck.

“I’ve missed you so much today…” you admitted in a whisper.

“It’s gonna take some getting used to…”

“Yeah… and for that colleague… I hope you’ll get along. But how is she?”

“She’s… you know what? Lydia described her as overconfident and I think it suits her. Uptight and overconfident, like she won’t take no for an answer, you know?”

“Hmmm… How old is she?”

“Dunno, like… a little younger than us I guess… maybe around 30…”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Is she pretty?”

Andrew laughed.

“Not my type, definitely. Besides, I’ve already tried the ‘office romance’ kind of stuff, and… it got me into enough trouble for a lifetime, don’t feel like trying again.”

You both laughed, while you playfully pinched his side.

“Alright, Romeo…”

“I’ll be okay. It’s just… lots of things I need to get used to.”

“Things change too fast,” you added in a weak voice.

You both looked down at your daughter, so young and yet she had grown so much already, her hair wasn’t sparse anymore and her eyes shone brighter, their shade letting you guess their final hazel hues.