0-1 Years Old

My new daughter is no longer inside a person. She’s out here, a raging mess! Nurses, midwives, gynaecologists, her mother, me all have accelerated heartbeats as she comes out here. She senses the blood travelling faster around our bodies, it over-oxygenates us, my unemployable limbs shake. Her arrival, like other safe deliveries, is a relief and a joy, the drum beats plateau and then slow down as all our adrenaline dissipates.

Careful to support her head, she is held in adult arms and whispered to and goo-goo’d at. A list comes to me of things I’ll do to protect her, I just invented her, I have not had the usual nine months to prepare for all this. At the top of the list is a resolute promise to guard her fontanel.

She doesn’t exactly look like me. Her eyes are fiercely blue, with blacker pupils than normal. She has none of my features; she looks similar to her mother, who is lying with her face away from us. She is happy, pleased with her success in becoming a part of nature.

“I won’t let anything happen to your fontanel” I say.

She is in the shape of a long bean, still squashed into a shape that suits being inside a womb. She will change shape. Her skull will grow to protect her vulnerable brain inside.

Her experiences add-up fast. She hears all of the noises of our life for the first time. Doorbell, man next door who can’t play the saxophone yet, phone, prattling, people who come round, intoxicating noise.

During month four things are uneasy between me and her mother. I wheel my daughter to the park, she smells everything life in a park has to offer. She doesn’t seem to like it much, but is still very stimulated. Words fail me when I try to announce something to her undeveloped brain.

“You are the most beautiful and perfect person in the world. I love you. Never die (she will die in less than 71 days time). I implore you never to be sick.”

She senses I am crying.

“I’m getting a paternity test.” She won’t tell anyone, she doesn’t understand what I’m saying.