| Current mood: |  worried |
You make me feel like a natural woman... [1 AM.]
Emma had dozed briefly after the birth of her daughter. For maybe an hour or so. Then she woke up, ravenously hungry and wanting her baby. At that moment.
The cravings hadn't faded. She wanted meat. Someone found her a cold steak and lukewarm mashed potatoes, and she ate them all. And washed it down with a glass of milk and a cup of tea. Once her hunger had been sated, she asked for her daughter. Demanded, more like it. And once she had the baby in her arms, the rest of the world faded away. For a moment.
She forgot that she was stuck in the past. She forgot that the baby's father was on the other side of the universe. She forgot that she was supposed to be hard and cold and cruel. She only wanted to look at the little red face. The chubby hands. Emma removed the small knit cap on the baby's head and ran her fingers through the fine, dark hair there. Unwrapping the yellow blanket, she unfastened the baby's one-piece and scrutinized every inch of her daughter. Emma watched her breathe. Looked up at her face, and saw that a set of unfocused blue eyes were staring at her with a great deal of curiosity.
Emma's eyes began to glow, and she established a quiet mental connection with the baby. You're perfect. Perfect, my darling. Beautiful. Mine., she whispered silently, her lips turning up in a small smile. Won't you wrap your father around your finger, just as I have done? She redressed the baby, listening to the quiet emotions radiating from her daughter's mind. Curiosity. Exhaustion. Peace. But a rising discomfort. A new feeling. The baby tensed, little hands balling into fists.
Emma understood. Unbuttoning her blouse, she tried to adjust the baby in her arms, trying to see that she was more comfortable. With one hand, she allowed instinct to guide her, encouraging the small head to touch one of her breasts. The baby turned her head. Opened her small mouth, searching. Where was it? There. Emma closed her eyes and swallowed. Hard. Her eyes burned with tears that she would not allow to come.
It all felt so awkward and new and she just couldn't collect the thoughts in her head. She picked up a blanket and hid the baby and her open shirt. Draped it over her shoulder. Leaning back against the pillows, she allowed her mind to wander. To wonder how they were going to return home.
[Jean.]
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