Don't you know what a baby looks like?

The baby's head slammed into the stone arch. She looked on in horror
while he laughed it off.
"Baby's heads are soft," he said.
The others tittered nervously. She ran over and wrestled the baby from
him. She held her tight and protected her little head with her hand.
She stroked the head. It seemed all right. It had not cracked open.
There was no blood. The baby screamed with the shock of it. It must
hurt. My poor baby. There, there now. Mummy will make it better now.
Inside, she was screaming too. No, no. Fathers don't do that. My father
could not have done that. He was still laughing. How could he? This was
his baby. His own baby. Her heart was breaking.

She danced around the kitchen with the baby in her arms. The baby
chortled. She buried her face in the soft neck and nibbled the tiny
ear. The baby wriggled and squealed with delight.
"Yum, yum," she said. "Eat you all up."
She held the baby close and kissed her head.
"I love you, love you, love you," she murmured.
The baby reached up and sucked her cheek. Then she grabbed her hair and
tried to eat it.
"No, no," she laughed, gently disentangling the baby's hand. "Let's
look out at the cows. Where are the moo cows?"
"Moo," said the baby.
She held the baby under the arms and steadied her on the windowsill.
The baby jumped and danced on strong but unsteady feet and bunched her
little fists in her mouth.
"Careful, darling. Mind your head." She wrapped her arms around the
tiny body.
"Moo, moo," cooed the baby.

"Stop it!" she roared. She ran at him, wildhaired and naked. He stopped
bouncing and shaking the pram and fell back, alarmed. She shielded the
pram with her body. She glared at him with red hot fury and he was
unable to meet her gaze.
"You're mad," he smaned as he edged away. "Bloody crazy."
The baby screamed unbearably but she had to keep him in her sight. She
had to watch his every move. Her breathing came hard and fast. She
wanted to beat him, tear him apart, but she had to shield the baby. The
baby needed her. Every nerve in her body was taut. Her fists were
clenched. She was grinding her teeth together so hard, she thought they
would break.
He turned back at the door, his mouth twisted bitterly. "Stupid bloody
women," he growled. "I'm going to bed." Then he was gone.
She stared at the closed door for a moment before turning to the baby.
She picked her up gently, trying to sooth the gulping sobs. She held
her firm and close. She kissed her forehead and stroked her fevered
cheek. "There, there, my love. There, there."
Shivering now, she pulled the baby's quilt around them both and sank
into the chair. She put the baby to her breast and slowly the sobbing
subsided and the baby calmed. She leaned her head back against the
chair. The fight went out of her and silent tears coursed down her
cheeks, down her neck and flowed over her breasts to where the baby was
now asleep.

She poured the warm water over the baby's feet. The baby kicked and
pointed her toes like a ballerina.
"Isn't that nice?" she purred. "You like your bath, don't you?" The
baby grew excited and arched her back.
She tickled her toes as she washed them. "This little piggy went to
market, this little piggy stayed at home?." She stopped and looked into
the baby's round blue eyes. "Beautiful girl," she whispered. The baby
stared intently at her, then blew bubbles and waved her arms in the
air. She smiled down at her and remembered the first time she had held
her. She had been so small and delicate, so fragile, and her head had
been pointy, like a pixie. "Don't worry," said the nurse. "It was the
forceps. It will right itself soon." But she had been anxious.
"Strip her off," her husband had said. "Let's see if she has all her
fingers and toes."
She had laughed with embarrassment but she was deeply hurt. She had
wanted him to come with flowers, excited and happy. She had wanted him
to hug and kiss her and pick up the baby tenderly and gaze at her with
love. She had wanted him to be brimming over with pride.
Her mother had come too. She had brought a frilly pink dress for the
baby. She wanted to hold her, cuddle her. She was her first
grandchild.
"Leave her alone," he had said. "She'll start crying."
"Don't you know what a baby looks like?" her mother had said as he
pulled the covers off the baby to inspect her. He had not replied. Her
mother's eyes were brimming but she sat very still and said nothing
more. She was hurting too. She had looked from her husband to her
mother and she was lost. This wasn't right. She looked around the ward.
Other families were happy, joyous. Babies were being handed from mother
to father to grandmother to grandfather. She had looked at their baby
and wondered why she had to hide her joy.
"Come on, popsy," she crooned. "Time to get out." She lifted the baby
out of the water and wrapped her snugly in the towel. "What a big girl
you are. A lovely big girl. Let's get you dry and then we'll have our
favourite lunch. Yes we will." The baby kicked and wriggled and
chortled in the towel. She was so happy.

They were going to Paris. Flying to Paris. She was excited. The last
time, they had travelled by train. Their daughter had stood before the
Mona Lisa and chatted to a young student who was sketching there. She
had charmed him as she charmed everyone. Now they were taking their
baby son. He bounced and bounced on her knee. The man in the seat
behind was making faces at him, making him laugh. People always did
that with babies, tried to make them laugh. The baby was chortling now
and bouncing higher. Then he screwed up his face and howled. What?
What's wrong darling? She turned the baby round on her knee. He had
pinched him. The baby's father had pinched him. A livid red weal spread
over the baby's upper arm. He did it again. She gasped and moved the
baby away.
"Keep him quiet," he hissed. "He's bothering people."
She couldn't believe it. She had never seen a man pinch a baby before.
But this was his father. This was his protector. Anybody else but the
father. Not the father. She cuddled the baby and rubbed his arm gently.
She kissed his cheek. She found his bottle of juice and held it to his
mouth. He drank in large gulps, holding her stare with panic stricken
eyes. The baby couldn't understand. She held him close to her breast
with both arms, covering his injury with her hand. She looked at the
scowling man beside her and she wanted to die.

They stood before her with anxious faces. "We don't like the way he
treats the children," they said.
"He doesn't mean it," she said. "He's got a lot of pressure at work and
he can't stand the crying."
They were his parents. Why didn't they talk to him? But they
didn't.
"You spoil them," he would say. "You're asking for trouble."
She would look down at her babies, their tiny, delicate hands, their
dimpled thighs, their angel faces and she felt a surge of delight. How
could she spoil this perfection?
"You're too soft with them," he said more than once. "You'll turn them
into monsters."
In a way, she supposed he was right. She was soft with them. She
couldn't be hard with them. She loved them. But she didn't let them
have all their own way. She could be firm when required. But she could
not be cruel. She could not bear their pain.
"You're weird around babies," he said. He wanted to leave them to cry.
She tried to leave them for a while but the pain of it made her cry
too. That made him angry.
"Your brain has turned to jelly," he said. "You're a fool. They won't
thank you for it."
He didn't understand her. She didn't want thanks. She wanted love. She
wanted him to love his children. She couldn't understand why he didn't.
It must be her fault. He didn't love her so he couldn't love the
children. Was that it? She was confused. What had she done? What had
she done to her children? She could never make it better for them. She
had failed them utterly and she was helpless to help them.

"Wouldn't you like another baby?" he asked. It was as though he had
stabbed her in the heart.
"I'm too old," she replied. "I couldn't risk it. There might be
something wrong."
"You can have tests," he said.
"No. It's too late," she said. "Let's stop at two."
He might be better now, she thought. He might be more loving and
caring. He might have more patience. But the hurt went deep. She
couldn't risk it. She was too tired now. Too beaten down. She had to
keep on protecting the babies she had.
She waited until the house was empty, then she opened the wicker trunk.
She took out the soft bundle wrapped in tissue paper. She spread the
tiny garments across the bed. She had knitted them herself. She
couldn't knit fast like some women. She had knitted slowly but
perfectly, resting her needles on her growing stomach. She had felt
life moving within her. She had felt so complete.
The white matinee coat was exquisite. The stitching was intricate and
clever. She could hardly believe that she had made this. There was a
bonnet to match and a pair of mittens. She had chosen the softest wool
which would not irritate a baby's skin. She held the tiny coat to her
face and she could smell the fragrance of her babies. She could smell
talcum powder and soap and freshly laundered linen. She could smell
their delicious warm milkiness.
She carefully folded the coat around the bonnet and mittens, then
rewrapped them in the soft tissue. She placed the small package on top
of the teddy bear and the furry dog and the kangaroo with the baby in
its pouch. She closed the wicker trunk. She was too old now. She was
thankful that she was too old now.

She could hear a baby crying somewhere far away. She felt her heart
lurch at the sound of it. She was trembling with anxiety.
"It will be all right," she told herself. "Everything is going to be
just perfect."
"Things are different nowadays," her mother had said. "Women are
stronger now."
She had nodded agreement. Her mother saw life simply now. She didn't
want to explain why she was so afraid.
"You should be happy," her mother had said. "You have everything you
want."
"I am happy," she had said, but she couldn't be sure yet.
She hurried on through the labyrinth of corridors, through the shafts
of afternoon sunlight, hearing the cries of babies all around
her.

She halted in the doorway and she was suddenly at ease. The beautiful
girl lay back against the pillows, brown curls tumbling around her
face. She managed to look both exhausted and radiant at the same time.
She went to her.
"Darling, you look wonderful," she said and kissed her gently on the
cheek.
The nurse took the flowers. "How lovely," she said. "I'll put them in
water for you."
The young man stood by the crib holding the baby. He smiled at her. He
was glowing with joy. She moved towards him and gazed down at the baby.
She had never seen such a beautiful sight.
"She's an angel," she whispered. "Look at those eyes - and so much
hair." She was captivated.
The young man placed the baby in her arms. "She looks like you," he
said. "She has to have your name." He sat on the edge of the bed and
held the beautiful girl's hand in both of his. He raised the hand to
his lips and kissed it.
The baby stared up at her, so calm, so serious. She stared down into
the baby's eyes and felt a surge of love. She looked to the beautiful
girl and the young man and she knew that this was perfect.
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for making me so happy."
Then she took the angel baby and placed her in her mother's arms.