Chapter 5 #2
As I descend the front stairs, I spot the old lady across the street, standing stiffly by her letterbox. Lil’ Peach’s cries are sharp enough to cut through the morning calm. Fuck, the entire neighbourhood can probably hear her.
I hug Peach tighter, and my stomach twists, wishing I could make the world quiet for just a second.
By the time I reach the car, I tense further when I notice my neighbour heading in my direction. Her steps are slow and deliberate, and her gaze is fixed on me. Great. Just what I don’t need, an audience and her fucking judgment. I’m sure I’ll get plenty of that when I arrive at the hospital.
“Hi,” she says softly as she reaches the edge of the driveway. “Is everything okay?”
I flinch at the gentleness in her voice. My patience is already running thin. “Does everything look okay?” I snap, clutching Peach a little tighter.
She raises her hands in front of her and calmly says, “I just wanted to check if there’s anything I can do to help?”
I stiffen, caught off guard by the kind offer. For a moment, I’m tempted to bark something back, to push her away, but I don’t. “She won’t stop crying. I’m going to take her to the hospital to get checked out.”
“Are you a first-time father?”
“I’m not her father, I’m her uncle.”
“Oh, I see.”
I blow out a long breath, hating that I gave my nosy neighbour some insight into my private life, but that’s all she’s getting. It’s none of her fucking business.
“I have some experience with little ones,” she says hesitantly, closing the distance between us. “I raised my daughter on my own and looked after my grandchildren while she and her husband worked … well, I did, until they moved to the other side of the country.”
A trace of sadness slips into her voice at the end, but I push it aside. I have bigger problems to deal with right now.
“I appreciate the offer, but as I said, I’m taking her to see a doctor.”
“She sounds … unsettled.”
You think? It wouldn’t take Einstein to figure that one out. “I’ve fed her, burped her, changed her, and she still won’t stop crying.”
The nosy neighbour raises her hand, skimming it lightly over Peach’s forehead. “She’s not hot … she doesn’t seem to have a temperature.” Her eyes flicker from the baby up to me. “Would you mind if I held her?”
My eyebrows pinch together. “Why?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she gently takes her from my arms and holds Peach upright against her chest. “There, there,” she whispers, soothing her hand down my niece’s back, and within seconds, the crying stops.
This lady is either a baby whisperer or I’m completely fucking useless.
“What’s been going on with her?” she asks. “Apart from the crying.”
“She’s vomited a few times after I’ve fed her. Yesterday it was projectile, like she was purging a tiny demon from her body.”
My neighbour’s eyes soften as she studies Peach, gently rocking her. “Hmm … and the crying, does it happen right after feeds, too?”
I rub the back of my neck as my tired brain struggles to remember exactly when it started. Every nerve feels raw, and I’m running on empty, barely holding it together. “Yeah, after eating, and she arches her back like she’s trying to fight it.”
She nods slowly. “That sounds like reflux. Some babies’ stomachs are sensitive, so they get uncomfortable after feeds. It’s common, nothing serious, but it explains why she won’t settle no matter what you do.”
I stare at her, a mix of relief and disbelief. “So it’s not me? Not something I’ve done wrong?”
“Looking after babies can be scary, but you need to cut yourself some slack. You’re noticing the signs, keeping her fed and safe. That counts for a lot, young man.”
“My name is Dominic,” I tell her.
“Dominic,” she repeats with a slight smile.
I scrub both hands down my face. “Is there something the doctors can do to fix her?”
She rocks Peach gently. “Here’s what you can do to help her. First, keep her upright for at least thirty minutes after each feed. That way, gravity is on your side.”
I grunt, shifting uncomfortably. “Half an hour?”
“Babies with reflux need it. It keeps the milk down and helps with the discomfort. Also, try smaller, more frequent feeds; don’t try to force a full bottle in one go. And burp her often, every few minutes, not just at the end.”
I blink at her. “Every few minutes?”
She nods. “Yes. And if she’s still uncomfortable, gripe water can help calm her stomach.”
I stare at her, incredulous. “Gripe water?”
She glances down at Peach and notices she’s fallen asleep, so she steps closer and keeps her voice quiet.
“Gripe water’s just a herbal mix that can help settle her tummy when she’s uncomfortable.
It won’t fix the reflux, but it can make her less miserable.
You can put it straight in her bottle. You’re already doing a lot right; just some small changes can make a huge difference. ”
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
She arches an accusing eyebrow. “I’m speaking from experience, Dominic. My grandson had the same problem when he was a baby.”
“Thank you for your insight, but I can’t just leave her like this; it’s cruel. I think I’ll take her to the hospital just in case.”
She shakes her head gently. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.
Hospitals will make you wait for hours, and they won’t prioritise something like reflux.
It would be smarter to see your local doctor on Monday or speak with your community nurse.
I’d be happy to watch her for a few hours while you get some rest.”
“I … umm, don’t know.”
“I can watch her inside your place,” she says, nodding towards the house. “It gets lonely living on your own, so it would give me something to do. It’s no bother.”
I stare at Peach for a long moment. She’s still curled against my neighbour’s chest, breathing softly in her sleep. Her tiny fists are relaxed, her face serene for the first time all morning.
I’m all this little girl has, so it would be nice to have someone else in her life, someone experienced, looking out for her.
I dig the heel of my palm into my chest; it feels tight with exhaustion, which is something I can’t seem to shake. “I didn’t think she’d ever settle,” I admit, my voice coming out rough.
“She just needed to be held right,” my neighbour says softly.
“Sometimes that’s all it takes. I had no clue when I brought my little Suzy home from the hospital.
It was all trial and error for me back then, but with age and experience comes wisdom.
This is all new to you, so please don’t beat yourself up about it. It gets easier, I promise.”
My gaze shifts from my niece to her, and suddenly her offer of help no longer feels like pity; it feels like a lifeline.
My shoulders drop as the tension slowly unwinds. For the first time in days, I feel a hint of lightness creeping in.
“Okay, you can watch her while I get some sleep.”