The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1103 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Dealing with tiny-wee–except her wees were anything but tiny–became the next priority. You can hardly explain to a three week old baby, ‘Sorry kid ya gorra wait, gorra feed the others first,’ can you? Besides I felt as if my mammaries were becoming full close to capacity and it would be ironic if I was the first woman to be killed by them exploding.

I picked up my bundle of joy and she stopped crying, restarting when I decided it was better to change her than feed her first. I didn’t think poo would do her skin any good at all and getting some into her bladder could cause all sorts of infection problems. So a change of nappy after a quick bum wipe/wash, then a feed.

Her priorities were different and she bawled the whole time until at last clean and dry, I undid the cover on my bra and she practically swallowed my boob. Okay, a slight exaggeration–but you get the picture.

Of course she was ravenous and took it down too quickly–I thought that only happened with bottles?–apparently not. She stopped and I winded her, whereupon she gave a huge burp and brought up half her feed–all over both of us. The joys of motherhood. Stella stood watching and laughing, Julie wasn’t sure what to think and Trish was disgusted. “You need to teach that baby it’s rude to burp.”

I wiped myself down with a spare nappy, and we started again–on the feeding. It went easier this time, in fact she was so relaxed, she kept falling asleep and I had to stroke her cheek to keep her feeding. Of course she pooped again and I changed her completely then–she grumbled rather than cried and after Julie gave her a cuddle–I was changing myself–we put her down to sleep and Trish helped me make some lunch.

Tom arrived with the other two as I made scrambled eggs on toast with chopped tomatoes for a bit of extra colour and flavour. After lunch I expressed some milk, watched by the three younger girls–they were fascinated that I could get milk out of my boobs and how big they seemed to be compared to usual.

Certainly they drew the attention of men. When I was last in a shop, the man serving me looked at my bulging chest the whole time. I wasn’t impressed and reminded him at the end that it was customary to look people in the eyes when you talk to them not talk to their chest. He blushed and stuttered an apology and hoped that I wouldn’t report him–I didn’t, I have better things to do.

The afternoon faded into evening and once more meals became my priority. Trish and Julie fed junior from the bottle while I started dinner. Trish had been itching to do this, since she’d fed Puddin’ by bottle in the hospital incubator. I sat her down and placed the baby in her arms, and showed her how to support her head. She clucked like a mother hen and Julie agreed to watch the two of them while I popped the chicken in the oven.

Julie burped her and I watched as Trish and Meems changed her nappy and cleaned her up. I was quite impressed–I don’t normally associate Trish with dolls–which she doesn’t really care for, but she does seem to like real babies. I wondered if she might like a life size doll–but then rejected it. There is no substitute for the real thing, and that seems to be where her interest lies.

After a roast dinner, we settled down to watch a video of Fantasia, one of the best Disney cartoons ever made–considering it was made so long ago, the imagery and music combinations are absolute magic. The girls love it, and I promised they could watch it through to the end before they went to bed.

Billie and Livvie wanted to help feed and change Baby C tomorrow, and I promised they could if they behaved. Danny looked bored and asked if he could go and see his friends tomorrow. I told him I’d probably let him, depending upon the weather. Then after I got the girls in bed I went to chat with him.

“You regretting coming to live with a bunch of women?”

“It can be a bit borin’, Mum.”

“You’re not enamoured of babies?”

“If that means do I like ‘em? Not really, I’d rather be out playin’ footie or with the lads.”

“Where do you plan on meeting them?”

“Over by the rec. We’re gonna play football.”

“What time?”

“About ten, I think.”

“You could cycle there, couldn’t you?”

“On my MTB?”

“Yes, don’t forget to take a lock with you.”

“So I can go?”

“Yes, but don’t get into any trouble, will you?”

“Muuum,” he protested.

“Suuuuun,” I replied.

“Okay, I promise.”

“Take a change of clothing with you and some waterproofs–the forecast for tomorrow looks a bit iffy.”

“Okay–thanks, Mum.” I bent down to hug him and he kissed me on my cheek.

“Oh, by the way, if all goes well, the adoption should go through next week, according to the solicitor.”

“That’ll be good, can I change my name to Cameron?”

“I take it you mean your surname?”

“Muuum.” He protested and I sniggered.

“See how you feel later, we’ll discuss it after the rest goes through.”

“Kewl,” he said with a big smile on his face.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about them giving up their old surnames, I suppose because I could see some benefit in keeping their links with their original families–perhaps I was wrong. I wouldn’t stop any of them from doing it, nor would I encourage it.

I loved all my charges, of that I was sure. I didn’t always like what they said or did, but loving and liking aren’t the same, as I tried to explain to Julie earlier. I felt sorry for Danny, given what had happened to the other boy who’d come to stay with us. I still wasn’t sure about Billie. So far she seemed to be enjoying being a girl–maybe when it got a bit more intensive such as school, she might change her mind and revert. I would have to arrange some extra appointments with Stephanie for her and also do one for Julie, perhaps Trish too–though she seemed to stay level headed and cheerful.

I wondered if anyone had replied to my advert, I asked for it to be inserted for three nights–it was lovely having my own doll to play with, except she was hard work and the drawbacks from breastfeeding were becoming apparent–it was very time consuming, and unless I expressed enough to the bottle, also meant I couldn’t delegate much of it.

I wanted Simon to do some–bottle feeding, of course–you didn’t think I meant growing his own–the mind boggles. I wanted him to feel a strong bond with the baby. I mean, he’s actually very good with all the kids, though I do wonder if he sees them as his kids, or an indulgence to me?

If that was the case, the latter, I mean, I’d be very disappointed in him. He’s so good with Meems–who’s his favourite. He tries with Danny, but isn’t very good at it, Trish terrifies him–she is so bright, and Livvie is a bit of it all–she’s bright but doesn’t know it quite as well as Trish, whose confidence seems to grow weekly. What she’ll be like in ten years–I dread to think–she’ll either be an absolute angel or a total monster.

I went to bed with this playing on my mind and was woken in the night by another little monster craving my flesh–well all right, certain fatty appendages which spout boob juice. Would I ever learn to cope with this disturbed nights bit?