Is She Not Lovely?

Tasha had fifteen, twenty minutes at most before they would have to repeat the whole process.

Guinan and Beverly had assured her this would pass and that, in no small way, her daughter found it soothing (even if she didn't always show it).

But it felt like this latest stage of development was dragging on and Tasha only hoped her sore breasts could hold out. Increased feedings meant extra time at the breast, and it took every ounce of Tasha's determination to grit her teeth and smile whenever her girl needed to feed.

Fortunately, they were now on the tail-end of it.

At least, according to Beverly they were coming out of it.

And Data and Tasha were clinging to that tiny sliver of hope.

Tasha smiled. She could hear Data singing softly through the door. He was so patient and unflappable. Tasha wasn't sure how she could ever have navigated parenthood without him.

"I love you, baby. And if it is quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely nights," Data sang.

Oh no. Tasha grimaced.

If Data was already on that song, it meant he'd been up for at least an hour.

In fact, he had been trying to soothe his Shinebug for the last ninety minutes. When she had first woken up in tears, Data had promptly gone to the nursery.

When she was first born, Data had been tempted by the fact that he could theoretically stay up and watch her every night – always on call for overnight feedings, armed with lullabies and fresh nappies.

Tasha had promptly squashed that idea.

Just because he could stay up didn't make it right.

Tasha firmly felt that they had an obligation to share parenting duties including getting up at night with the baby.

I don't want to miss out on this. Tasha had insisted.

While Data respected that, he had been disappointed. It had been Data's hope that in offering to handle the overnight feedings would both give Tasha a respite and provide him with an opportunity to participate in feeding his girl.

To Data, this was an important form of bonding that he wanted to experience.

So, Data and Tasha had agreed on a compromise.

In the morning before work, Data was present and would talk to their Shinebug during her breakfast.

At night, Data and Tasha would lie down with their girl between them. Mum provided dinner while Data read a bedtime story.

For overnight feedings, Data always brought baby to mum so she could stay in bed.

And three nights a week, Data got up alone to bottle feed their bairn.

Beverly had warned that mixing a bottle in might make their daughter less keen to breastfeed, but seven months in there were no problems.

In fact, Tasha and Data joked that their wee girl could care less where her milk was coming from - she was always hungry.

They had begun introducing solid foods recently. Well, as solid as cooked and mashed veg could be. Pureed uttaberries were a favourite. Mushed peas had a tendency to wind up in mum's hair. And Data had quipped that his daughter had turned banana into an art medium with her work on the wall.

Another loud wail from the main room was enough to spur Tasha to kick off the covers.

"Sorry," she apologised aloud.