Chapter 5: Aftermath and First Feed
The thick, pearlescent cord stopped its rhythmic pulse between them, now just a soft, blueish rope lying in the water.Randy took the sterile clamp from the kit Lin had left open on the ledge. His large hands, usually so sure with a wrench, trembled. He looked at Carla, a question in his tired eyes.
“Here,” she said, her voice hoarse but clear, her finger indicating a spot a few inches from the baby’s navel. She was still breathing heavily, her daughter’s warm, wet weight the only real thing in the world. Randy pressed the clamp closed, the plastic click loud in the quiet room.He took the scissors, blades glinting dully.
“You sure?” he asked, his voice rough.
Carla nodded, her cheek resting on her daughter’s damp head. “Do it.”
The sound of the scissors cutting was a blunt, final snick.A symbolic severing. Randy lifted the baby carefully, presenting her to Carla like the most precious offering.Carla guided the tiny, rooting mouth to her breast. The latch was instant, deep, and fierce. A sharp, pulling pain that made Carla gasp, followed by a flood of warm, tingling relief. Her body sighed, contracting again, softer this time, a release of its own.“Hey,” a voice whispered from the doorway.
Wendy stood there, leaning against the frame, her own son a sleepy bundle in the crook of her arm. Her face was pale, her green eyes swimming with tears that tracked silently through the freckles on her cheeks. She didn’t say anything else. She just watched, her lips parted, as Carla nursed their daughter for the first time.Randy, still in the water, looked from one woman to the other. He slowly stood, water cascading from his big frame, and grabbed a towel. He dried his hands meticulously before reaching for more towels from the warmer. He stepped out of the pool and held one open for Carla.“You’re gonna get cold.”
The practicality of it broke the spell. Carla nodded, reluctantly guiding the baby off her breast. The tiny girl made a mewling sound of protest, her mouth working the air. Randy wrapped the warm towel around the infant first, then held another for Carla as she, moving with a new, careful awareness of her own emptied body, stood and stepped out of the pool. He draped it over her shoulders, his touch brief and impersonal, like an attendant.Wendy shuffled forward. She looked down at the swaddled baby in Carla’s arms, then at her own son. “She’s so pink,” Wendy said, her voice cracking.“He’s all ruddy and grumpy looking. Like a little drunk boxer.”
A choked laugh burst from Carla, mixing with a sob. “She looks like you,” Carla whispered, lifting a still-trembling finger to trace the faint, blonde brows of her daughter.“Bullshit,” Wendy murmured, but she was crying again. She leaned her head against Carla’s damp shoulder.“She’s perfect.”
Lin slipped back in then, her timing impeccable. She took in the scene: Carla swaying on her feet, the newborn in her arms, Wendy tucked against her side, Randy dripping on the floor mat.She moved with efficient calm. “Let’s get you delivered of the placenta, Carla, and then we’ll get you both cleaned up and into bed. You’re shaking.”
Another contraction, smaller but insistent, clenched Carla’s abdomen.She knew this feeling, had guided countless women through it. “It’s coming now,” she said, and let Lin and Randy help her the few steps to the bed. She sat on the edge, a chux pad beneath her, and with one low, effortless push, she felt the slick, warm slide of the placenta.It was an anti-climax, a biological afterthought. Lin caught it in a basin, her professional eye assessing it with a nod before covering it.
The next hour was a blur of warm washcloths, sticky pads being removed, fresh mesh underwear, and giant maxi pads. Lin helped Carla into a clean gown while Randy, now dressed in his dry jeans and a t-shirt, held the baby, his eyes never leaving the tiny, sleeping face. Wendy settled into the recliner with her son, her head lolling back, asleep almost instantly.
Finally, Carla was tucked into the hospital bed, the back raised. Lin placed the swaddled baby girl in her arms.“I’ll leave you all for a bit. Press the call button if you need anything. Grandpa,” she said, nodding to Randy, “there’s a pull-out couch if you want to crash.”
When the door whispered shut, the room was theirs. The blue light of dawn was turning the windows a pale grey. Randy sat on the edge of the pull-out, not opening it, elbows on his knees.He watched Carla watch her baby.
“Thank you,” Carla said to him, the words immense and inadequate.
He shook his head, avoiding her gaze, studying his own hands. “Don’t.”
“Randy.”
He looked up then, his kind eyes red-rimmed.“You two… you did all of it. I just… I was just the…”
“The ignition,” Wendy mumbled from the recliner, not opening her eyes. “And the mid-coital labor coach. Don’t sell yourself short, mechanic.” A faint smile played on her lips.Carla laughed softly, a sound of pure exhaustion and happiness. She looked down at her daughter, then at the bassinet where Wendy’s son now slept. “We need to name them,” she said. “We can’t just keep calling them ‘my son’ and ‘my daughter.’ It’s confusing.”
Wendy slowly opened her eyes. “We had lists.”
“We had arguments,” Carla corrected, but she was smiling.Randy stood up, stretching. “I’m gonna grab a vending machine coffee that tastes like battery acid. You want anything?”
“Water,” both women said in unison.
He paused at the foot of Carla’s bed, looking at the baby again. “She’s got your nose, Carla.”
“She’s twelve hours old, Randy. She looks like a baked potato.”
“A perfect baked potato,” he said, and left.
In the quiet he left behind, Wendy carefully extracted herself from the recliner and brought her son over, settling on the edge of Carla’s bed. They sat there, side by side, each holding a newborn.The hum of the hospital was a distant thing.
“Jasper,” Wendy said, looking at her boy. “It means ‘bringer of treasure.’ Kinda pretentious, but I like it.”
Carla leaned her head against Wendy’s. “Jasper,” she repeated, testing it.“It’s good. Strong.”
“And her?” Wendy asked, nudging Carla gently with her shoulder.Carla was silent for a long moment. She looked out the window at the fading dawn, then down at her daughter’s face, at the soft, dark lashes resting on cheeks still rounded from the womb. She thought of the long months, the uncertainty, the sheer audacity of their plan. She thought of the pain, sharp and transcendent, and the way Randy had held her through it, an anchor in the storm. She thought of the other baby, the one born just hours before in golden light, and the thread that now bound them all.
“Luna,” Carla whispered.Wendy was quiet for a beat. Then she smiled, her sunflower tattoo shifting on her shoulder as she adjusted Jasper’s weight. “For the little moon behind your ear.”
“For the light in the dark,” Carla said.
Wendy leaned over and kissed Carla’s temple, her lips lingering. “Welcome to the world, Luna,” she whispered to the sleeping baby.
The door clicked open, and Randy returned, holding three bottles of water and a sweating can of cheap coffee. He stopped, taking in the scene: the two women, heads together, each holding a part of him, a part of them, a new world woven from old needs. He didn’t speak. He just set the waters down on the rolling table and remained standing, a silent sentinel by the window, as the first true sunlight of the day broke over the parking lot, painting the sterile room in tones of warm, dusty gold.