He asked himself the question. Husband and wife. Mother and father.
A cacophony of silences surrounded them these days, almost more alive than the baby, silent, next door. The deafening, unspoken words beat them around the ears, triggering a slip into submissiveness. All they did now was eat, work, breathe and feed the child.
The child. A daughter.
Emily.
What type of world could she look forward to? Was that really an issue? Too late now to take that into consideration. Too late to take it all back. Much too late to say, 'Sorry love, but I’ve got to get up early tomorrow'.
They had agreed that a child, offspring, would be a great step in their lives. They had agreed. So how did it turn out so wrong so very quickly? Was there a way to fix it without running away?
A soft, almost non-existent, cry drifted into the lounge room, over the voice of Mike Munro, disturbing their take-away dinner. He looked at her as she glanced at him. Whose turn was it this time? Had he changed the last nappy or was it the one before that? Did she feed the baby last time or was it me?
It all became a vindictive game, keeping score, trying to get bonus points to miss the next round. Who was ahead anyway? Was it worth getting up now and scoring another point? Would that save him from the midnight feed? Would it get him anywhere? Would it lead to sex? Please no! That’s what got us here in the first place.
Another cry. Emily.
A glare.
“Oh Christ, what now?” He climbed to his feet, grumbling. No choice now. Dropping his fork onto his plate caused a splash of food and a rattle of cheap china.
Another glare. This time he returned it with added venom. Bending over, he grabbed his beer and took a quick guzzle.
“Haven’t you gone yet? The ad’s almost over!” she growled.
“So?” he retorted, as he opened the door to the hall, which led directly to the baby’s nursery. God, it’s cold, he thought as he moved out of the range of the old gas heater. One day I’ll get a new one put in when we have some spare cash.
One day.
One day I’ll be rich enough not to have to worry about it! How did that old song go? “One day I’ll have money. Money isn’t easy to come by…”
I have money, shiploads of the stuff. It just disappears. On what?
Mortgage.
Food.
Gas.
Baby clothes.
Electricity.
Car.
The list was endless and after all that, there wasn’t that much left.
One day.
The deliberations lasted long enough to see him to his daughter’s door. Through the crack, he could see the bedside light casting a dull shadow over everything. There, in the middle of the over-sized cot, lay the little bundle of humanity that he had helped to create. He stared and could see his nose and his wife’s eyes built into the make-up of this minute creature even from this distance.
Silently opening the door, he moved towards her. Emily flashed a smile at him.
A smile. A memory.
That smile.
It reminded him of the first toothless grin he ever received from her. She had only been hours old, but she seemed to recognise him already. He had forgotten all about that. How do you forget such an important event? Simple, really. You let work take you over, worrying too much about money. You let silly things build up until they threaten to overwhelm you. You get stressed and forget.
You miss out on the tiny bundle in front of you becoming a person.
“Hi baby. What’s wrong?” he mumbled, dragging her from the sheets. “Daughter.” He tried the word on for size and found it fit very well. “Daughter.”
“Ga,” murmured Emily.
His daughter. Our daughter.
This is what it was all about. Watching this miniature person grow into someone that will make us proud. Maybe a doctor? No, a lawyer? It doesn’t matter really. She’s ours.
It dawned on him there and then. “I have it all wrong,” he whispered to her.
“Ga,” replied Emily.
Lifting the top blanket from the mash of blankets, he wrapped his daughter up. “Don’t want you getting cold now, do we?” She smiled at him again in the way that only a baby can, melting his heart. A couple of quick strides found him back in the lounge room.
He saw the silent accusation from his wife. “Why did you get her up?”
“Don’t you get it? We are doing this all wrong,” he retaliated, upset with his own reflective anger. “This should be a pleasure. We wanted this. She is the next generation.”
His wife just stared.
“This is your little girl, Emily. My daughter. Your daughter. Our daughter.
“We made this. We decided that that is what we wanted and we did it. We made a human being. This human being,” he continued, as he extricated Emily from the bundle of blanket and handed her to his wife.
"Look at that face," he implored. "Your features. My features. Your mother here, my dad there. All together. My nose, your eyes. Isn’t she a magnificent specimen? And the best part… The best part is that she is ours.”
“Yours and mine,” finished his wife, as realisation ran across her face. “We are doing this all wrong, aren’t we?”
“Yep. This is what we wanted. And I am proud of what we have created. We wanted a baby and we got this lovely angel.” He sighed and regretfully started again. "We need to talk…"
His wife looked up at him and replied, "Yes, I know…"
The future was theirs now. It was now time to do something proper with it.
