Note about minor revisions to story:
Hi everyone! Thanks so much for all the love! Just wanted to say I've made some adjustments to the story based on comments here and over on Ao3. I got confused when writing about how long they'd been in their quasi-romantic relationships and said 9 months. 9 months is actually the amount of time from running into each other at the Gardener residence in March/April to the holiday party in early December. So their sort-of relationship has been going on for about 4 months by the time they are at the holiday party, which I think makes more sense for the story.
I added a couple sentences in "Tightly Wound Together" to reflect the fact that Casey and Curtis are not together anymore even though they were never really officially exclusive to begin with.
The "So Bad" epilogue happens about 9 or 10 years after the previous chapter and I edited it to make that more clear.
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Chapter Notes:
CW/TW: description of postpartum depression, extreme postpartum difficulties and just regular old postpartum difficulties. If you know you know.
The Doug-Izzie apology we all want and deserve... and not in the way you were expecting.
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Izzie fights back tears as she paces. She's so tired. She's so painfully, physically, bone tired. So tired that she can't even fathom how anyone can expect this of her. How does anyone do this? What woman, in her right mind, would choose to have more than one child after this? It can't possibly be like this for everyone. That's the only explanation. She passes the microwave again as she slowly makes laps around the first floor. It's 2 AM. She hasn't slept since the one hour nap she'd taken in between feeds around noon the previous day. Oh wait, there was that one 15 minute period she passed out while pumping. That had been... what... 4PM? And every night this week she's gotten no more than two or three hours of cumulative sleep. The baby squeaks and stirs in her arms, tossing her small, fuzzy head. Without realizing it Izzie has accidentally slowed her speed as she rhythmically paces while exaggeratedly rocking the infant at the same time... the only way anyone can get her to sleep. She reaches down into the very core of her being and dredges up the last bit of strength she can muster to pick up her pace again.
"Infants are sleepy," they'd said.
"You can sleep when the baby sleeps," they'd said.
"Drive her around in the car and she'll fall asleep," they'd said.
"Push her in the stroller and she'll fall asleep," they'd said.
"She'll take lots of naps," they'd said.
Lies. Lies from the pit of hell.
Elsa and Doug are staying with them for the time being, and they've been a huge help. Elsa cooks and holds the baby while Izzie eats or showers or changes the monstrously large pads they'd given her at the hospital. And Doug runs errands and repairs anything and everything around the house he can find to repair, when he's not working. Chloe is here a lot of the time and Casey's taking as much time off of training as she can but the Olympics wait for no woman. Gabby also stops by whenever she's not working at the hospital or planning her wedding. So Izzie definitely "has support." But no one told her it would be this hard. No one told Izzie that she'd bleed this much. Just SO much. Or how exhausted her body would be just from healing the internal wound of this child no longer being attached to her uterus. Or that she'd be sitting on ice for a week. No one told her that her baby's mouth would feel like razor blades. And no one expected it to take so long for her milk to come in. Or for the baby to start losing weight instead of gaining it. Or that she'd have to spend 40 minutes of almost every hour nursing her, then giving her a bottle of formula, then pumping with the hospital-grade breast milk pump to try and stimulate her milk production. At least during the day the other adults can do the bottle feeding while Izzie pumps, giving her a little extra time between feeds. And at night she has given up on pumping because she's too busy walking and rocking. Walking and rocking. She feels so guilty for not pumping more even though she knows it doesn't make sense to feel that way.
Chloe had stayed up till midnight tonight so that Izzie could eat something and go to the bathroom, but she has school tomorrow so eventually Izzie had to send her to bed. Casey does as much bottle feeding and diaper changing as she can but she really needs to be rested for her meet this weekend and there's only so much she can do anyway. The baby needs Izzie.
This isn't sustainable, Izzie thinks. I can't do this much longer.
On Monday she'll go to the doctor and do another "weighted feed." They'll weigh the baby naked and then she'll feed her and then they'll weigh her again. It's the only way to see how much milk she's getting. And if it's still not enough Izzie doesn't know what she'll do. In the small, distant part of her mind that is still rational she knows that she will need to stop trying to breastfeed and just start giving her formula. The little bit of milk she's been able to produce will dry up and the baby will figure out how to take a bottle and it will all be soooo much easier. Eventually. But her rationality seems to have gone out the window either from lack of sleep or from shifting hormones or the trauma of seeing her baby... the baby she grew inside her own body... the baby she is supposed to be able to nourish and sustain... cry hungrily and struggle to eat and even to sleep. Because it must be her fault... right?
If it were up to Casey she would have stopped trying to breastfeed a week ago. Izzie can see the worry in her eyes when Izzie loses her balance from exhaustion or bursts into tears because she accidentally spilled the one ounce of milk she'd just pumped... or the baby spits up everything she just gave her. Whenever Casey's home she barely leaves Izzie's side. Rubbing her shoulders or spoon feeding her soup or refilling her water. But she can't really understand. No one understands the sense of failure. The complete erosion of self. How can it be that a month ago she was leading huge, multi-million dollar engagements at work and managing teams of 20 people each who all treat her with deference and respect... only to be reduced to this? In her darkest moments Izzie fantasizes about running away. But she knows that would be a very short term solution.
The tears are streaming down her face now because she actually can't do it. She can't physically walk any more. She's going to have to go wake up Casey because she just can't. She sniffles as she slouches against the wall. The baby stirs, wakes up and begins to wail. A sob rips through Izzie's chest and her face crumples. She wants to sink to the floor but she's still so sore.
"Hey," a quiet, gruff voice says. "You ok?"
Through bloodshot, watery eyes she looks up to see Doug standing in the doorway, a bit stooped and disheveled from sleep.
"Yeah," she says, swallowing her tears, "Yeah, I'm fine."
She stands up and puts the baby on her shoulder, bouncing her as she paces. Maybe a different position will buy her a little time before she has to start rocking again. She feels Doug watching her, silently evaluating, but she can't bear looking at him just now so she crosses to the dining room and keeps walking and bouncing, walking and bouncing. The baby fusses but stops wailing.
"Here," he says, following her in, "Let me take her."
He reaches for the baby.
"It's ok, I've got it," Izzie says, voice scratchy.
Because she'll be damned if she asks Doug for help. He gestures in good natured surrender and takes a few steps back. She can hear the clock in the hallway ticking. Ticking away her life. Her sanity.
"I can't sleep," Doug offers, "Damned restless leg."
She nods, not sure why he's still here.
"Getting old's a bitch," he tells her, settling into one of the dining room chairs.
She stares at him, her exhausted mind barely able to comprehend his words. The baby fusses louder. She feels herself losing it again. And it would be so easy to just hand the baby to Doug. To let him deal with this for a while and then just lay down on the floor, right here, and lose consciousness. But the thought of handing over her vulnerable, precious child... the one she waited so long for and worked so hard for... to Doug feels... unthinkable. He's held the baby from time to time of course, when she was out of the room or otherwise occupied. But she's never willingly handed him the baby herself. Her baby.
The last time she came into the room to find him holding her she'd rushed over and said, "Oh, I can take her," and swiftly scooped her out of his arms.
It's not that she doesn't trust him, it's that fundamentally she's just never been able to forgive him. And he's never asked her to so why should she? And it's one thing for her to help him, by reorganizing his investment portfolio or advising he and Elsa about refinancing their home loan. But asking for his help? No thank you. And if he happens to mow the lawn or fix the backdoor, because Casey asked... well that's between them.
Izzie crosses to the living room and begins to rock the baby again, cradling her head and neck with one hand and her tiny bum and legs with the other, then swinging her arms back and forth in front of her body while she walks and bounces at the same time. The baby's distressed, scrunched up little face relaxes again. Then, suddenly, Doug is there again. Pacing beside her. She doesn't have the energy to try and figure out what this is. What's happening right now.
"Walking... helps my legs," he says. "I think I'll just walk around with you... if that's ok?"
She nods. Because why the hell not. They cross back into the front hall and slowly move toward the family room.
"You know, you've been doing a heck of a job," he says quietly.
She glances at him, skeptically. She can feel the tears drying on her face, making the skin tight from the salt.
"Guess that's no surprise," he chuckles. "You're good at everything you do."
And for a moment she is speechless. She must have crossed over into pure hallucination if Doug is paying her compliments, right now, of all times. She swallows.
"Yeah?" she says, bitterly. "Cause right now it kinda feels like I'm just... fucking failing."
She could kick herself for being so open with him... if she had the energy.
"Are you kidding me?" he says, as they round the corner back into the large, eat-in kitchen. "I don't know anyone who would've hung in this long, doin' all this... pumping and feeding and rocking... even Elsa!"
She grunts, not sure what to make of this.
"You know, we fed Casey formula," he says.
She looks at him.
"Yeah, with Sam and everything it was just too much."
They pass the microwave again and Izzie can't bear to look at the clock this time.
"Guess she turned out pretty well," he chuckles, glancing at Izzie.
She cracks a tiny, thin smile. They are in the dining room again.
"You know, I was thinking the other day..." he continues, slowly. "I never really apologized to you. For being so hard on you. When Casey and you first got together."
Izzie falters in her rocking. This is unexpected. Damn. Sleep deprivation is one hell of a drug.
"You're really good for her," he says softly, as they enter the dining room again.
Then he nods at the sleeping baby.
"And for her."
Izzie feels the ice around her heart beginning to thaw just a tiny bit. God, her arms are so tired they're practically numb.
"Well, anyway..." Doug continues. "I know I should've said all that... a long time ago. I guess I just assumed you knew. But, maybe you didn't."
They pass through the doorway to the living room again.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm sorry. I'm really sorry for treating you like you weren't enough."
She squints at him. Is this actually happening? Right now?
"Because you are. You were enough then. And you're enough now," he says, nodding at the tiny form cradled carefully in her hands.
She slows to a stop. Stares at him, swaying on her feet. She doesn't say anything. She just hands him the baby. Her baby. Casey's baby. He cradles her in his large hands, without needing to be told how.
"Like this, right?" He says, rocking her in front of his body.
Izzie nods. Then she sinks onto the couch as he begins to pace.
The next thing she knows she is waking with a dull ache in her breasts. The stiff couch cushion is pressing into her cheek. Shit, she doesn't even remember her head hitting the pillow. She blinks her eyes open as adrenaline begins coursing through her. She can feel in her body that she's slept more than two hours. Sunlight is beginning to filter in through the curtains. Has it been three hours? Four? Where's the baby? She sits up. There's a blanket covering her body. Someone must have draped it over her. She is just about to swing her legs over the side of the couch when she notices Doug. He's leaning all the way back in the reclining chair with his legs up, snoring with his mouth open. The baby is sound asleep on his chest with his hand on her back to keep her in place. Floating up and down with his breaths she looks like she's never been happier or more comfortable.
You little bitch, Izzie thinks, laughing silently and shaking her head.
And maybe she should be worried about the feeding schedule but they do say "Never wake a sleeping baby." So she rolls over onto her side with a sigh of relief and goes back to sleep.
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End note: Not sure why but it felt significant to not give the baby a name in this chapter. I liked keeping her as "the baby." I also like to imagine that this is the point at which things turn around for her and Izzie. That Izzie's milk comes in and the baby gains weight and they both start sleeping a lot more. That Doug becomes the go-to night helper and gives the baby all her nighttime bottles so Izzie can get 8 hours of sleep. I also like to imagine that one day a large package shows up at the house and it's a fancy, automated baby swing. And no one is quite sure who bought it or where it came from until Doug gets home and says, "Oh, I bought it."