He Came From The Wild

He Came From The Wild | Epilogue.

It's still dark when noise comes from the corner of the bedroom. It is cold too, at least it is outside the warm cocoon of blankets I find myself rather content in. Miranda only groans, and I'm reluctant to move. We never were morning people, and my change only happened recently.

"Oh god. It's only four am!" Miranda yawns, making an effort to get up;

"Stay, I got it." I try to keep the joy from my voice, knowing the evil look she'll serve me with at my early morning chirpiness.  

"Are you sure? You got up before?" Though judging by the way she just pulled the blanket a little tighter, I think that's as far as her argument is going to go.

Kissing her cheek, I let her sleep and swiftly move over to her bassinet in the corner where, I'm greeted by a mixture of baby powder and the fresh, new scent of our daughter. It's the best smell in the world; unlike the stench that's starting to filter through it and it's probably why she is awake now.

"Hey little princess, what are you making that noise for?" I hesitate before picking her up.

She's eight weeks old today and I'm still scared of doing something to damage her. Miranda tells me I won't, but I can't help it thanks to how tiny and delicate she is. The way May, can scream would have you thinking otherwise. Luckily she isn't demonstrating her full range of vocals right now and the second I hold May against me she goes quiet; content with being held only it's moments like these I hate having such a keen sense of smell.

I take her down the hall to the nursery and once she's changed, we go to the kitchen. The whole way I keep talking to her softly and it only seems to settle her further. Miranda says its because she is so used to hearing my voice. The whole time she had been pregnant, most nights were spent talking to her stomach, to the amazing little being growing in there. 

Oh how life had changed.

It wasn't just Miranda and I anymore, with most of our days spent in a constant rotation of feeding, changing and trying to work out a sleep schedule; what ever that meant. The books Miranda got seem to talk about it a lot as well as all the do's and don'ts that just seemed to contradict each other above all else. I let Miranda worry about that side of things. I didn't understand it, but what I did know was how to change a diaper and heat up a bottle.

That was precisely what I was doing now and with her breakfast ready, we move into the living room where I feed her. It ends with me telling her about an episode of one of my new favourite TV shows, while gently patting her back as her small body rests against my chest. Again, just how tiny and fragile she is hits me as I hold her until she falls back asleep. It doesn't last for long as the second I hear a sound from the staircase I get tense; prepared to guard her at all costs. Her tiny fists open, flexing slightly before curling back up with an iron like grip on my shirt as I turn to see Chad coming down. 

"Thought I heard the squawker!" Chad yawns, nearly two hours too late.

"Don't call her that." I warn, not stopping the growl to my words.

"Right. Sorry. Coffee?" He keeps walking down towards the kitchen and he should know my answer by now.

With him up and being noisy downstairs, I decide to go back to my room where Miranda is still asleep. The morning light is coming through the curtains now and once baby May is back in her bed, I crawl into mine.

"Only two hours this time. I can't help feel jealous of our daughter getting all of your attention!" Miranda mumbles as she rolls over and snuggles back into place beside me.

"Chad's up and figured I should get in a nap before we have to get ready for today."

"Oh right. Today!" She sighs, and looking down a small smile is on her face making her look completely at ease.