The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1092 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

By the time I arrived at home I’d calmed down and didn’t want to dot a certain therapist in the nose.

“How’d it go?” asked Stella.

“Bloody awful–won’t be going back there again.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t like her.”

“I thought people fell in love with their therapists?”

“Eh–nah, she’s not my type–never did go for supercilious old bags.”

“She made that good an impression?” Stella disappeared before I could respond, emerging moments later with a mug of tea. “How’s junior?”

“She’s adorable, and slept ever since I left home–she grizzled in the car then zonked and has been asleep ever since.” For a moment I scared myself, then heard her make a whimpering sound. “Hungry, I expect.”

“She’s made an impression on you, Cathy Cameron.”

“Yep, she sure has.” I picked her out of the carrycot and she glowered at me, her hair all standing up and her rear end smelling of happier times. I hugged her, and laid her on the changing mat.

“Can I help feed her?” called Trish, who was the first through the kitchen door, followed by a herd of elephants all trumpeting similar messages.

“Not yet, she’s too little, but when she’s a bit older, you can all have a try, but only if Auntie Stella or I am here to supervise, okay?”

They all agreed albeit reluctantly.

“Small babies need special support when you hold them, because their heads are too heavy for their neck muscles and they roll about which could injure them.”

None of them seemed aware of this. I put the bottle of milk to warm in the little heater thing and started to change her. “Trish, find me a clean nappy; Livvie, the wet wipes please; Meems, the nappy liners; Billie, the bum cream; Danny–“ he just waved and disappeared. “Jules, can you pass me a clean babygro and pants?” She brought them over.

“Hey,” grumbled Stella, “I have to do all this by myself.”

“Learn to delegate–it has its advantages.” I was joking, because the novelty would soon pass, they just wanted to be part of the newest inmate, like they would a new puppy or kitten. Then it gets boring and finally a chore–at least that’s what happens to rabbits and guinea pigs–maybe it’s different with babies, especially in a house primarily filled with supposed females. I wonder if this could be used as some test of genuineness of true gender difference? Probably not. Not all bio females are into babies, and some find them a total turnoff. Personally, I was in my element–even better than dormice–well at the moment–in the middle of the night it might be different. I wonder, if I had to electronically tag this one and weigh her each time I take her out of her nest box?

I cleaned her up, fed her and after winding her carried her about for a bit trying not to have too big a grin on my face. I was feeling a sense of fulfilment I’d not had with any of the other kids–I looked up at the sky and prayed to a god I didn’t believe in, for her to be allowed to stay with me. Talk about bonding–I was super-glued to her.

Trish took some photos of me holding her–all without flash. Then I let each one of them hold her for a bit, even Meems, the real doll girl.

“She’s got my finger,” squealed Livvie and the baby shuddered in Meem’s arms, she nearly dropped her. So I took her back.

“Please all of you, don’t shout or squeal near her, she can’t really see you yet but her hearing is very good, so you frighten her.” The baby–my baby–oh please God–was yawning, so after talking to her, I put her in the cot and rocked her off to sleep.

My life was going to get so mundane but I was loving it. Who ever thought I’d get a week old baby to look after like my own? Then I thought about the cost and my joy was cut short, replaced by a sense of guilt. The reality was, I was here for her needs, not the other way round.

Life is strange, so are humans, we interpret things for our own ends, just as I had then–but it’s what keeps us human, if egocentric.

After lunch, and with Stella’s assistance, I took the rest of the brood–who wanted to come–for a bike ride. All but Mima came, and she was happy to stay at home and help Stella with her new sister.

Trish struggled on the ride, I let Danny and Billie go off ahead whilst Livvie and Trish rode with me on the boys old mountain bikes–only just coping with the size of them. I had changed the tyres to make it easier for them, but they still struggled.

The girls seemed to enjoy the challenge and weren’t complaining, so I shelved my idea to ride with the two older kids first and then take the rest out afterwards, the older ones getting a second ride–obviously at a slower pace.

In the evening after the kids were in bed, I went looking on ebay for second hand bikes in more suitable sizes and managed to find some with twenty six inch wheels but with quite small frames. They were only a tenner each, and all I wanted was the frames–the rest I could build myself–probably at night, instead of sleeping. I also set up my turbo in the spare garage and was going to try and do half an hour a day on it to try and get my legs back in shape–for cycling again.

Simon thinks I’ve got quite nice legs, so who am I to argue? I checked my emails before I shut down the computer, the funeral director had sent me an message.

“Hi Lady C, How did he know that?

Funeral is at Our Lady of Sorrows, on Thursday next at 2.00pm, with committal at the municipal cemetery afterwards. Usually, that’s for family and gentlemen only. I have arranged for refreshments to be made available at the public house down the road from the church, The Royal George, for 3.00pm. It will be a family (multiple) burial and I will need the dress for the little girl. What about her parents?

I decided that I’d try and get Maria’s wedding dress cleaned up so she could wear that, and I’d see if Paul had a nice suit he could wear for his final journey. Tomorrow, Livvie and I would go and look for a suitable bridesmaid’s dress for Daisy. I would take Livvie because she was closest in size in my estimation for trying on dresses for fit. I’ll ask her first of course, but I think she’ll be pleased to do it. If not, it’ll have to be Trish, but she is a little taller than Livvie–not that dress length will matter too much for someone lying down–dammit–this was important, the most important outfit of this child’s life and she happens to be dead, but it is important–so no corners will be cut.

I emailed the undertaker back and asked him for measurements, especially height for Daisy and told him everything else seemed in order. He’d asked the priest at the church, who apparently knew the family slightly, to do the service–better than nothing I suppose. Looked like I was still chief mourner.