Chapter 13 Lurielle #2
Not that she had let on, of course, but one nightmare scenario after the next ran through her head on an endless loop throughout the entire surgical prep.
What if the nerve block wears off in the middle of it?
What if you can feel them cutting you? Your body is going to be split open, and you might feel every bit of it.
The anesthesiologist had been a wide-eyed huldra, peering down at her throughout the procedure, checking in to assess her alertness and pain, patting her hand encouragingly.
Her fears had been for naught, and she hadn’t felt a thing.
At least, not until he was placed on her chest at last after she was closed up.
The weight of him was the first thing she learned, before she discovered how soft his tufty little shock of black hair was, how satiny smooth his pale green skin was, before she learned the shape of him in her arms. Before she learned the way he fit against her like a puzzle piece, as if he’d always been meant to be there.
Solid and strong, his little face screwed up in a yowl, his jaw seemingly too tiny for something that would someday accommodate tusks.
“Hi, Kael,” she whispered, belatedly realizing the first thing her son was going to feel was her tears. Tears, and you snotting on his head, probably.
She learned him by sound almost immediately thereafter.
“Listen to that boy cry,” Khash had said against her temple, chuckling through his own tears. “Listen to how strong he is, Bluebell. You did that.”
Her body’s response to his cry that first day he was born had been immediate, and it had not lessened in the month since they’d been home.
The pitch of his hunger was sharp enough to cut through sleep, and oftentimes, her eyes would pop open just a breath before his lusty wail split the night.
Lurielle already knew about the way her body would respond to his cries; she understood it from a scientific level, understood the chemical releases that caused it, read first-person accounts from the mothers in the groups she had joined .
. . but all of her academic preparation hadn’t prepared her for the reality.
She would wake with a gasp every single time, no matter if it was the middle of the night or mid-afternoon, her adrenaline spiking, pushing her to go to him, now now now!
Her skin would flush, a red stain heating her neck and down her chest, the room feeling so hot that she could barely stand it.
Her milk would let down in a rush, her body tripping over itself to sate and soothe him.
A full month in, and she was only just beginning to temper her reactions, rather than treating every feeding as if it were an emergency.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she called out laughingly, crossing the short distance to his cradle from her bed, her feet stuffed into her slippers.
“Are you always going to be this impatient? You’re going to have to learn some manners someday, little boy. ”
He began rooting immediately, the instant she sank into the relocated rocking chair, opening her lounge top and settling him against her breast. Tiny green hands opened and closed desperately, squeezing whatever they could grasp, mouthing against her with a frantic urgency that made her laugh under her breath every time.
He was desperate for food, no matter how many times a day she nursed him, no matter how often he was fed from the bottle.
An appetite like his father’s, she had no doubt he, too, would someday order a whole porterhouse for dessert.
He settled onto her once he latched, fingers still flexing, tugging her tender skin in rhythm to his sucking.
Lurielle bent, huffing against his head, her new drug of choice.
She was obsessed with the milky-sweet smell of him, his softness, his healthy solidity.
You can do this, the heft of him seemed to encourage.
You’re doing great. The creak of the rocking chair was solid and steady, a sound that signified peace, freedom from any other obligation that wasn’t the weight of him in her arms, permission to not think about any of the decisions regarding the near future that lay in wait.
It had only been a month. She reminded herself of that regularly.
Only a month and they had barely left the house. She hadn’t had to deal with anything actually complicated yet. Hadn’t had to face illness or separation anxiety, schoolwork or bullies, hadn’t even had to face whether or not she would make friends in the mommy groups she was planning on joining.
She had barely had a taste of motherhood at this point, and she knew that. Even still, Lurielle couldn’t help the way she felt.
She was fucking crushing this.
They had settled into a routine almost immediately.
Khash was holding off on taking his paternity leave until she went back to work, something they had agreed upon long ago.
She was home with the baby all day, Khash relieving her the instant he stepped over the threshold each evening, scooping Kael out of her arms before she could even protest. She didn’t begrudge him.
He was just as eager to bond as she had been in those first few hours, and her arms would be empty the rest of the night.
There had been a human lactation specialist visiting the day before they had been released, popping her head into Lurielle’s room to introduce herself and ask if Lurielle had any questions.
“The goal is, of course, being able to—”
“Keep my baby fed and healthy, by whatever means we require,” she had cut in with a tight smile. “Yes, I know.”
The woman’s smile had faltered, leaving after a moment when it was clear the conversation was over.
“Don’t pay her any mind,” the dragonborn nurse who entered the room shortly thereafter had huffed. “They come through every once in a while, and we have to let them.”
“I can appreciate the importance of the job,” Lurielle had gritted out. “Like, I get it! This is new and scary for all of us and help is help! But does she even realize that different species have different needs?” Lurielle had fumed as the nurse clicked her tongue.
There were certain proteins that existed in the breastmilk of an orc, proteins her son needed, proteins her body didn’t produce.
“Which isn’t a problem at all,” her doctor had assured her.
“There are formulations for every species on the shelves at the Food Gryphon. Don’t get yourself worked up over nothing, Lurielle.
I can already see that look in your eye.
Combination feeding is fine. Splitting between nursing and formula feeding isn’t going to hurt him a bit.
Fed is best, end of story. As long as he gains weight as he should, there’s nothing to stress over. ”
She had been glad for it, once they were home. He was ravenous, always. Completely normal, everyone had told her.
“That’s just the way orcs are, suge,” his eldest sister had assured her. “Vardok save you when he’s bigger. He’ll eat you out of house and home.”
She was pumping as much as she could, racing to get ahead of the point when her body simply wouldn't be able to keep up with the demands of a growing orc, and knowing that she had to supplement with orc formula from the start made it easier to contemplate that eventual day.
Khash prepared the bottles and handled every feeding from the moment he came home in the late afternoons until nearly the middle of the night, squeezing in the early morning before he left for work.
“Boy, you’re like a tick on a teddy bear. That’s good. A fine appetite is the mark of a warrior.”
She would listen from the kitchen or from her chair on the other side of the room, not wanting to impose when she had him all to herself all day.
“But don’t go thinking you don’t need to be smart.
Brains are just as important as brawn. Your great-grandaddy used to say the strongest fist was no match for whoever was smart enough to have an ax in the hand.
You look at some of those fools I grew up with.
All they cared about was Grumsh’vargh and goin’ out every night.
What do they have to show for it? Not a pot to piss in or a window to throw it from.
We’re going to make sure you go to the best school they have here. ”
“It’s the public elementary school,” she supplied. “And it’s excellent.”
He looked up, scowling. “Bluebell, he needs to have aspirations. There’s nothing wrong with reaching higher than your raisin’.”
“Well, you can aspire your way to a clean diaper when he’s done, because I can smell him from here. I’m taking a bath.”
“That’s an excellent idea. He’s not the only thing I’m smellin’.”
She slept in the afternoons when the baby did, pushed him around in the little buggy they’d been given by one of Khash’s sisters, letting him travel with her from room to room throughout the day, going outside to enjoy the nice weather for lunch every afternoon.
Everyone told her this would be hard.
She had been terrified of failing, certain she would get everything wrong. She had listened to horror stories from coworkers for years about how exhausted they were, how much those early days had run them ragged, how they were sleep-deprived and exhausted all the time.
Lurielle wasn’t sure whether she should still be waiting for the other shoe to drop or not, but so far, motherhood had been easy. So easy that she had begun to wonder if everyone was right.
Is it better for him if you stay home?