Birth in Suburbia - Carol Falaki (well read books txt) 📗

attraction to Michael too obvious to him, not yet anyway.
“Keep him guessing, sis,” was Marie’s advice, and then her attention was taken with Emily, who began pulling at her shirt, and vocalising her hunger.
Marie sat down, and deftly opened her shirt, allowing Emily to locate her nipple. Emily latched on
and was soon feeding contentedly.
“It hasn’t always been so easy,” Marie explained to her friends.
Debbie was impressed by Marie’s casual attitude to breast-feeding in public. There was no embarrassment.
“She wouldn’t latch on at first, it was awful. You start to think you are never going to get it right, and people keep telling you different things. I thought Emily was going to starve. I know better now, but at the time I worried that I couldn’t do it, that I wouldn’t produce enough milk, and I was so tired, I can’t describe how tired I felt.”
Chrissy had gone to the refrigerator for a cold drink for Marie, knowing how thirsty she became when feeding Emily.
“Thanks,” Marie continued.
For Marie, recounting her difficulties to friends helped her to resolve her own thoughts and actions, while at the same time she was hoping to help them each make their own decisions about feeding, and perhaps encourage them to give breast-feeding a try.
“What helped me the most was a kind midwife, when Emily was about four days old and I was about ready to give up. Emily was screaming. She was inconsolable. I was crying, David’s mum kept saying, 'Give her a bottle,’ but I didn’t want to, you know cow’s milk is for cows as far as I’m concerned,
and I remembered Sue, you know Sue Edmonds, she gave up breast-feeding and her baby still didn’t settle, had colic until he was four months old.” Marie checked herself, looking at her friends.
Debbie folded her arms. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Breast-feeding did not appeal to her, and she felt guilty. She glanced at Emily, whose eyes were closed, and saw how her little fists were clenched with pleasure while she fed.
“I’m not saying what you should do; you may not want to breast-feed. I’m just saying how I felt.” Marie went on.
“It was important to me, but still, I nearly gave up that day, when this midwife I was telling you about, Lorraine her name was, came and sat down with me. She held Emily to calm her, and then she asked if she could see her at the breast. ‘She won’t do it', I told her, but Lorraine wanted to watch. So she did watch, and Emily wouldn’t latch on and Lorraine was able to show me where I was going wrong. She showed me how to hold her to help her latch on, and she showed me different positions to try, lying down, sitting up, and how to check that her position was correct. You see, when she wasn’t on properly she could have been sucking all day long and not getting much milk at all. No wonder she was crying - she was hungry. The milk comes out when she’s positioned correctly and sucking.”
“How can you tell?” Liz asked.
Marie beckoned Liz to come closer.
“It will probably look a bit different with your new baby, Emily is an expert now and goes on and off to please herself, she likes to look around while she’s feeding and sometimes stops to laugh or gurgle.” Marie looked up to see Liz, Debbie and Helen leaning over to watch,
"What you have to look for,” she continued, “is that your baby’s chin is against your breast, like this,” and she leaned forward to show them.
“Her bottom lip should be turned outwards and a good amount of the lower part of your areola needs to be surrounded by, almost concealed inside, her bottom lip, her mouth needs to be wide open and it should feel comfortable to you.”
“Don’t your nipples get sore? It looks painful to me,” Debbie asked.
“Not necessarily; mine did a bit, at first, but that was because she wasn’t positioned correctly. Also, you sometimes feel the milk come through, the ‘let down,’ and that can be uncomfortable for a moment, but if your nipples get sore it nearly always means your baby is not in the right position.”
“Doesn’t she want to feed all of the time, though?” Debbie persisted. “And how do you know how much she’s getting, you can’t tell, can you?”
“I just feed her whenever she wants,” Marie replied. “It was difficult at first, but then it became so easy. How much she is getting is not really the most important thing, you can’t measure it like you can a
bottle, but I remember Lorraine calling breast milk ‘rocket fuel', she said you can’t compare it with cow’s milk, which is what formula milk is made from, ounce for ounce breast milk is more nourishing than cow’s milk for our babies; it’s like comparing silver and gold.”
“Marie is right,” Maggie said, “But all babies are hard work. Breast or bottle-fed they will cry, and they will wake you in the night and require attention when you are desperate for rest or sleep. Getting as much rest as you can, whenever you can, is paramount. Your health may suffer otherwise, and remember,” she added, “and I’m talking from experience here. Superwoman does not exist. That’s why you should do whatever feels right to you, never compare yourself with others, and don’t feel guilty. No-one does everything perfectly.”
Debbie knew this, but easily forgot it. She made a promise to herself to try to remember.
For Debbie there was an element of reassurance in the way in which both her individuality and her sense of belonging was supported by the company of her friends.
Still, the journey to motherhood was one that each of them had to complete on their own, and the knowledge of this permeated every aspect of her pregnancy. Debbie knew how lonely pregnancy could feel at times.
From the corner of her eye she became aware of two small figures, standing in the doorway. By now the sweet, smoky aroma of barbecued chicken had drifted across the garden and pervaded the house.
“We want a burger,” Natalie demanded, Jonathan by her side.
“Please.” Both of the children’s eyes were fixed on Emily.
“Go ask Uncle Nigel, sweetheart, he’ll put some burgers on for you,” Chrissy said, and Natalie tugged at the arm of her friend.
Jonathan was transfixed by the sight of Emily feeding. He did not move at first and he ignored Natalie, who said impatiently: “Come on Jonathan, let’s get a burger.” Debbie saw Marie glance at him and smile.
“This is how Emily has her lunch, Jonathan,” she explained. Jonathan stepped closer.
“Come on, Jonathan,” Natalie insisted putting her face between Jonathan and Marie. The spell was broken and he turned and followed her out into the garden. Once outside they ran and skipped across the lawn towards the smoking meat.
Debbie watched his small back retreat across the lawn. She felt the desire to pick him up and cuddle him. She remembered that she had, only half an hour ago, teased Chrissy with her knowledge of Michael being a widower. The awful reality was that Jonathan had lost his mother.
God forgive you Debbie Johnson.
She was surprised, by an unexpected kiss on her check. It was Sean, back from his self-inflicted exile in the garden. Debbie turned to him, relieved that their quarrel was to be ended. Her eyes met Michaels’. He had followed Sean into the kitchen.
“I’ve been having a good chat with Michael here,” Sean said. “It appears he’s acquainted with James Seagrave. Got to be careful what you say to these newspaper guys though, hey Mike?”
“We’re not all bad you know, some of us do have a conscience.” Michael said. Sean was smiling; He’s almost relaxed, Debbie thought.
“Right ladies,” he said, “There is a ton of food out there; all of it ready to be eaten. Chrissy have you got another dish with a lid?”
With her newly cultivated cynicism Debbie decided his change of mood was probably alcohol induced, but she allowed herself to unwind, a little.
She watched Chrissy pass Sean a dish and give Michael some plates to take out. Chrissy was making an impressive effort to appear cool. She had slowed her reactions and injected a deeper tone to her voice.
“We’ll be out in just a moment,” she almost whispered, then turned and screwed her face at Helen and Debbie, out of sight of the men.
“Oh, right,” Michael said, glancing around the room and retreating gracefully into the garden. Sean followed him, dish in one hand beer in the other.
“Don’t wait 'til it goes cold, ladies.” Sean called back to them.
“Stop watching me,” Chrissy hissed, after they had gone. “I am in full control.” In return for this she was given a room full of Cheshire cat grins.


Chapter Nine


In the Garden


They entered the garden and a blast of warm air enveloped them.
“Out in the sunshine at last,” Tom said.
“We don’t know how long we’ll last in it.” Helen said, already wafting her face with a napkin. Debbie put her cold glass to her neck.
“I’m hot even when it’s cool lately,” Liz exclaimed.
Tom and Leo offered Debbie and Liz their seats in the shade and moved two more around for Helen and Marie.
Emily had fallen asleep and Chrissy put a clean sheet on a sun-bed, which she placed in the shade, close to the patio. Marie laid Emily there so she and David could relax, and at the same time watch their sleeping baby. Emily’s sleep had taken her beyond the constant chattering and the background music and she slept soundly. Leo appeared to be smitten with her, and sat on