A Baby’s Cry Read online

  I unlocked the car, and then leaning into the back carefully placed the carry car seat into position. I strapped it securely into place with the seatbelt. Harrison’s bottom lip gave a little sucking motion as babies often do but he stayed asleep. I checked that all the straps were secure and then stood for a moment looking at Harrison, completely overawed. The responsibility hit me. Here I was solely in charge of this tiny newborn baby, who would be relying on me – a stranger – for everything he needed: for life itself. The responsibility of any parent is enormous but as a foster carer it seemed even greater – being responsible for someone else’s child – and I hoped I was capable of the task.

  Quietly closing the car door so I wouldn’t wake him, I stowed the trolley case and my handbag in the boot, then went round and climbed into the driver’s seat. That was the worst part over with, I told myself, the bit I’d been dreading. I was pleased I’d collected Harrison and there’d been no upsetting scene; and shortly I would be home and looking after him. What I didn’t know then was that in collecting Harrison I had begun a very upsetting and traumatic journey that would often reduce me to tears. For now I was simply one very proud foster mother of a darling little baby boy.

  Chapter Four

  Bonding

  Harrison slept peacefully during the car ride home and didn’t wake until I pulled on to the drive and cut the engine. When the soporific motion of the car stopped he gave one little whimper and then his brow furrowed as though he was trying to make sense of what was going on around him.

  ‘It’s OK, love,’ I soothed gently, as I got out and then opened the rear door. ‘We’re home now.’

  Releasing the belt that held his car seat in place I carefully lifted out the seat and closed the door. I held the handle of the seat with one hand while I opened the boot with the other. I took out the bags and trolley case and then pressed the fob to lock the car. In the porch I stood the trolley case to one side while I opened the front door, now remembering that two hands are not enough when you have a baby. Harrison gave another little cry, louder this time, so I guessed he was starting to feel hungry. Leaving the bags in the hall I carried him in the seat through to the kitchen and stood it safely on the floor to one side. I knew it wasn’t recommended to leave a baby asleep for long periods in one of these seats – they’re bad for the baby’s spine, as they are curled slightly forward and not flat – so once I’d fed Harrison I would tuck him into his pram, where he could lie flat.

  I took one of the sterilized bottles from the sterilizing unit and, using water I’d previously boiled and following the instructions on the packet of formula (which I’d also read earlier), I carefully made up the milk. Although I’d breastfed both my children I’d also used formula milk for Adrian, as he’d been a big baby who’d been constantly hungry. It occurred to me how different this homecoming was from when I’d arrived home with Adrian and Paula: John, my husband, had collected me from hospital and my parents had been waiting at home to welcome me and help with their new grandchild. Now there was just Harrison and me, and that seemed to highlight how alone Harrison was in the world.

  Feeling rather clever that I’d made up the bottle of formula without any mishaps I carefully lifted Harrison from the car seat and carried him through to the sitting room to feed him. I sat on the sofa and gently laid him in the crook of my left arm and then put the teat of the bottle to his lips. Obligingly, he immediately opened his mouth, latched on to the teat and began sucking hungrily. I relaxed back a little on the sofa and looked at him in my arms as he fed. I’d forgotten how all-consuming feeding is for a newborn baby – it occupies and takes over their whole body. Harrison’s eyes were closed in concentration, and as he gulped down the warm milk little muscles in his face twitched with delight, while his fists and feet flexed open and closed in contentment. For a baby feeding is what matters most in the whole wide world and their life revolves around it.

  As Harrison fed I could feel the warmth of his little body pressed against mine; likewise he would be able to feel the comfort of my body. The close bodily contact between a mother and baby, especially during feeding, is vital to the bonding process. I wondered how Harrison’s mother had felt when she’d fed Harrison for the last time before she’d left the hospital; when she’d gazed down at her son knowing that once she’d fed and changed him and returned him to the crib she would never touch or feel him again. It was so very, very sad and I found it impossible to imagine.

  Harrison gulped down half the milk in the bottle and then suddenly stopped, pulled a face and spat out the teat. I wondered if he might need winding before he took the rest of the bottle, so I gently raised him into a sitting position and, supporting his chin with my right hand, I began gently rubbing his back with the palm of my left hand. His little white hat had slipped to one side and I took it off; it was warm in the house. Harrison had beautiful hair – a fine dark down covered most of his head, which made him look older than a newborn. After a moment of being winded he burped and a small rivulet of milk trickled from the corner of his mouth and on to his sleepsuit. I now realized I’d forgotten to bring in a bib with me. I carefully stood and carried Harrison into the kitchen, where I took one of the bibs I’d bought from the drawer, and then tore off a strip of kitchen towel and wiped the milk from his mouth and the sleepsuit. Returning to the sofa I lay Harrison in my left arm again and, tucking the bib under his chin, gave him the rest of the bottle.

  Toscha, our cat, sauntered in, clearly curious, having let herself in through the cat flap. She miaowed, as she always did when she first saw either the children or me, and then rubbed herself around my legs. ‘Good girl,’ I said. ‘This is Harrison.’ But I would make sure Toscha was kept well away from Harrison, for much as we loved her I knew it was dangerous and unhygienic to allow animals near young babies. Toscha gave another little miaow and wandered off, her curiosity satisfied.

  Now the bottle of milk was finished I wondered if Harrison might need a change of nappy, so I stood to go upstairs, where the changing mat, nappies and creams were – in the spare bedroom. But before I got to the sitting-room door the phone rang. I returned to the sofa and picked up the handset from the corner unit.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘How’s the little man doing?’ Jill asked. She was phoning from her mobile; I could hear traffic in the background.

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘He’s in my arms now. I’ve fed him; he’s taken all the bottle, and now I’m going to change him.’

  ‘There! I told you you’d remember what do to,’ she said. ‘It’s like riding a bicycle: you don’t forget once you’ve done it. Have you got everything you need?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. The hospital said the health visitor would visit in the next few days, so I’ll be able to ask her, if there’s anything I don’t know.’

  ‘Good. I’ll see you tomorrow then at ten-thirty and Cheryl would like to visit you and Harrison on Friday morning. She said it would be between eleven and twelve o’clock. Is that OK with you?’

  ‘Yes. Fine.’

  ‘She’ll bring the paperwork. Do you want me to come then as well?’

  ‘Not unless you want to. I know what to do.’

  ‘Great. See you both tomorrow.’

  As I put the phone down Harrison went very still and frowned. A smell rose from his nappy.

  ‘I think it’s time for a nappy change, little fellow,’ I said, kissing the tip of his nose. He looked into my eyes and seemed to smile at me. I felt an overwhelming surge of love and protectiveness towards him, just as any mother would.

  Upstairs, I went into the spare bedroom, which contained all the baby equipment apart from the cot, which was in my bedroom. I lay Harrison on the changing mat on the bed and began unbuttoning his sleepsuit. He watched me as I worked and then he waved his little fists in the air. I took off the nappy, cleaned him with the baby wipes, and then put him in a clean nappy. He was so good throughout the whole process, as if he sensed I was new to this and was helping me. I placed
the soiled nappy and wipes in a nappy bag, which I knotted, ready to throw in the bin. It was only then I remembered that as a foster carer I was supposed to use disposable gloves when changing a baby’s nappy, just as I was supposed to use them when clearing up bodily fluids from any foster child. This was part of our ‘safer caring policy’, designed to keep the whole family safe from the transmission of infectious diseases. HIV, Hepatitis B and C (for example) can be spread through bodily fluids – blood, saliva, faeces, etc. – and whereas a birth mother usually knows she hasn’t any of these diseases and therefore hasn’t transmitted them to her baby through the umbilical cord, I as the foster carer usually did not know (unless I was told), so we practised safer caring. And while Jill had said Harrison’s mother wasn’t a drug addict – so the chances of Harrison carrying a virus were slim – I obviously couldn’t be certain. Having placed Harrison safely in the bouncing cradle, I went through to the bathroom and thoroughly washed my hands in hot soapy water. I then returned to the bedroom and took the packet of disposable gloves I’d bought the day before from the drawer and placed them beside the changing mat so that I would remember to use a pair next time.

  It was now 2.30 and at three o’clock I would need to leave the house to collect Adrian and Paula from school. I carried Harrison and the bouncing cradle downstairs and sat him in the cradle in the sitting room while I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. I hadn’t had time for lunch; I’d make up for it at dinner, but I was thirsty. I drank the water and then returned to the sitting room. I wanted to quickly telephone my parents. I hadn’t told them Harrison was coming; it had all happened so quickly, and also I’d wanted to save them from worrying. Harrison, now fed and changed, was clearly feeling very comfortable and starting to doze so, perching on the sofa, I quietly picked up the phone and dialled my parents’ number. Mum’s voice answered with their number.

  ‘Hi, Mum, it’s Cathy,’ I whispered so that I didn’t disturb Harrison. ‘I have a baby boy.’

  ‘Pardon?’ she said. ‘I can’t hear you properly. It’s a bad line. I thought you said you’d had a baby?’

  ‘I have,’ I said slightly louder, smiling to myself. ‘We’re fostering a baby. He’s only two days old.’

  ‘A baby. Two days old!’ Mum repeated, surprised, and confirming she’d heard right.

  ‘Yes. I collected him from the hospital a couple of hours ago. He’s called Harrison and he’s lovely.’

  ‘Good gracious me!’ Mum exclaimed. ‘How are you managing with a baby?’

  ‘All right so far. I’ve fed and changed him and he didn’t complain. Soon I’ll take him in the car to meet Adrian and Paula from school. Come and visit as soon as you like.’

  ‘We will,’ Mum said excitedly. ‘I’ll speak to your father as soon as he arrives home from work and we’ll arrange to come over. How long do you think you’ll have him for?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. I’m seeing Jill tomorrow, so I should know more then.’

  ‘You’ll get very attached to him,’ Mum warned. ‘I know you do with all the children you look after, but a baby … Well, how will you ever be able to give him up?’

  ‘I’ll worry about that when the time comes,’ I said, lightly dismissive. ‘He’s only just arrived.’ Yet as I finished talking to Mum and we said goodbye I knew she was right. It was going to be heartbreaking when we eventually had to say goodbye to Harrison, and not only for Adrian, Paula and me but also for Harrison.

  At 2.50, allowing plenty of time to collect Adrian and Paula from school, I carefully lifted Harrison, still asleep, from the bouncing cradle and tucked him into the carry car seat. The trolley bag from Harrison’s mother was still in the hall and I now took it upstairs and put it in Harrison’s room, where it would be out of the way. I’d unpack it later when I had the time. Downstairs again, I picked up the pram chassis (which the baby seat fitted into) and, opening the front door, took it out to the car, where I stowed it in the boot. I returned to the hall and carried Harrison in the seat to the car and strapped him under the rear belt, carefully checking all the straps. While all this took time and conscious thought I knew that very soon it would become an easy routine which I would follow automatically on leaving the house, just as I had with Adrian and Paula.

  I felt self-conscious and also excited as I entered the playground pushing the pram that afternoon. Although Adrian and Paula knew I would be collecting Harrison from the hospital, it had all happened so quickly that none of my friends and mothers to whom I chatted in the playground knew I would be arriving with a baby. I was right in thinking it would cause some interest and comments, for within a minute of entering the playground Harrison was the centre of attention. ‘Oh, what a darling baby!’ … ‘Isn’t he cute!’ … ‘That was quick work, Cathy!’ … ‘He’s not very old’ … ‘You’re a sly one – who’s the lucky guy?’ … ‘I’m broody’ … and so on.

  When the bell rang, signalling the end of school, I pushed the pram towards the door Paula would come out of. Those mothers with children in the same class came with me, still chatting and asking questions about Harrison, while others went off to collect children from different exits. While I was able to answer questions about Harrison’s name, weight and when he was born, to most of the other questions I replied a polite ‘Sorry I don’t know.’ And even if I had known details of Harrison’s background, confidentiality forbade me from sharing these with anyone apart from the other professionals involved in his case.

  As soon as Paula came out she grinned and rushed over. ‘Can I see him?’ she said, edging her way in between two mothers who were still leaning over the pram.

  ‘Hi, Harry,’ Paula said, and gave a little wave.

  Harry replied by opening his mouth wide and giving a big yawn.

  An affectionate chorus of ‘Aaahhh’ went up from the two mothers before they went off to collect their own children.

  ‘Can I push the pram?’ Paula asked, passing me her reading folder to carry and taking hold of the handlebar.

  Adrian appeared with Josh, a boy from his class. ‘That’s him,’ Adrian said to Josh, pointing at the pram.

  ‘I’ve got one at home,’ Josh said, pulling a face. ‘They’re very smelly. Poo!’ he said, holding his nose for emphasis. Both boys dissolved into laughter.

  ‘Sshh, you’ll wake him,’ Paula cautioned, assuming a maternal role.

  ‘Mine cries and poos all day and night,’ Josh said happily, pulling another face, before running over to his mother, who was also pushing a pram.

  ‘Have you had a good day at school?’ I finally got to ask.

  ‘Yes. I got ten out of ten in the spelling test,’ Adrian said. ‘And Andrew’s asked me to his football party. Can I go?’

  ‘I’m sure you can. When is it?’

  ‘He’s giving out the invitations tomorrow. An ex-Liverpool player’s going to coach us.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ I said.

  We began across the playground, with Adrian still chatting excitedly about the forthcoming football party, and Paula proudly pushing the pram and shushing Adrian not to disturb Harrison, while Harrison was trying to open his eyes and see what all the fuss was about. I wondered if Harrison’s mother had fully appreciated the joy of being with children when she’d made the decision not to see her son; or perhaps she had and, unable to keep Harrison, had decided that no contact would be less painful than seeing him and having to say goodbye.

  I was nearer the truth than I realized.

  Chapter Five

  The Case

  Normally when we arrive home from school we fall into an easy routine. The children play while I make dinner; then after dinner Adrian does his homework while I hear Paula read. After that the children play or watch television until it’s time for a bath and bed. But today with a baby now part of our family the old routine vanished and organized chaos reigned. It began on the driveway before we’d even entered the house.

  I’d parked the car, got out and opened the rear doors
of the car, which had child locks on so couldn’t be opened from inside. Paula said she wanted to carry Harrison in his car seat into the house but I said it would be too heavy for her, so she sulked. Then Adrian opened the boot and began lifting out the chassis of the pram, which was helpful, except he accidentally caught Paula’s shoulder with his elbow and she, not having recovered from her pique, hollered – out of all proportion to the small bump she’d received. Adrian apologized but added that Paula shouldn’t have been standing in his way, so Paula retaliated by saying she hadn’t been in his way and he should be more careful. Harrison, whom I was holding in the carry car seat and who until now had been asleep, clearly felt it was time he joined in the fray and, opening his mouth wide, began to cry.

  The situation didn’t improve indoors. I lay Harrison in the pram in the hall and began gently rocking him but without effect.

  ‘Perhaps he’s hungry,’ Paula suggested, still rubbing her shoulder.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘I fed him just before I came to school.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s done a poo,’ Adrian said. ‘Josh says his brother poos all the time and it’s runny and smells horrid.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ I said. I undid a couple of buttons on Harrison’s sleepsuit and checked his nappy but it was clean.

  I continued rocking the pram but Harrison’s cries grew and he became quite angry and red in the face. Adrian and Paula offered more suggestions, trying to outdo each other: Harrison was too hot, too cold, not tired or ‘He wants his proper mummy,’ which didn’t help. Then they looked at me as though I should have known what was making Harrison cry and I started to feel inadequate that I didn’t. Instinctively I picked him up and as I did he let out a large burp and his body relaxed.

  ‘It’s wind,’ I said, as relieved as Harrison, and able to reclaim some of my parenting kudos. ‘I should have thought of that sooner.’