Safe

Chapter 27

The first six weeks Charlie is home seems to go quicker than they'd like and drag all at the same time. For the most part, he blesses them with being cooperative and calm: he settles into a relatively regular sleeping schedule, and as much as it does involve waking up crying around 1am every morning wanting to be fed, Shayne and Courtney at least manage to moderate how exhausted they are from their own disjointed sleep by alternating who does wake up to feed him. He intersperses it with occasionally waking up at other times for diaper changes, too, and he requires both their attention almost constantly during the day when he's awake, but they don't mind that. They like looking after him together.

For all the hospital's warnings that preemie babies can remain fussy, he doesn't seem to be: he responds positively to them at all times, he eats just as much as the paediatrician said is healthy for him and as often as they'd been advised he probably would want to be fed, and he happily bats at the mobile above his lie-flat playmat and visibly enjoys all of the affection they shower him with.

But then, of course, there's bath time. He only needs to be bathed every few days – with the addition of, of course, the couple of times he manages to spit up all over himself – but each time it seems to get harder than the last. They try all the paediatrician's suggestions: he'd actually seemed to enjoy when Courtney had started quietly playing her Spotify playlists in the background while he played out in the living room with them, so they'd had at least some ounce of hope that bathtime music would cheer him up.

It did not. He just screeched even more sharply, his cries drowning out the soft music underneath them.

Courtney hadn't left the house since they'd brought him home other than the appointment with the paediatrician the first week, but when the music idea completely fails, Shayne quietly suggests – when Charlie is napping the next weekend – that maybe she could go out and buy some bath toys for him.

"Give you a chance to get out of the house, too, baby. I know you don't like being cooped up all the time," he'd told her, softly, Courtney sighing in response as she shuffled sideways and let her head lean into his shoulder.

He was entirely right. She grew restless too easily just being in the same place all the time. She needed to get out. But... he'd been cooped up, too, he wasn't even going to the gym despite her repeated assurances she didn't mind at all if he did.

"I... guess," she replies, eventually, sighing softly, "but... how about if I go out to buy toys, you gotta promise me you'll go to the gym at least once next week? It'll be good for you, baby, I know you enjoy it. And we both need to get out sometimes."

"Okay. I'll go to the gym," he agrees, softly, twisting his head to press a kiss against her forehead, "thanks for looking after me too, Court. But I am more of a homebody than you."

"Mmm," she hums her agreement, before twisting around to curl her legs over his lap and cuddle up to him, "love you, Shayne. I'm so glad we're doing this together."

"Love you too," he whispers his reply, his own body relaxing as he curls against her. They're both exhausted, and it will probably ruin their ability to get to sleep early when Charlie falls asleep that evening, but it doesn't surprise – or annoy, truthfully – either of them that they soon drift into their own nap curled together on the sofa until they're woken by the sound of his cries an hour later.

They try the bath toys the day after Courtney goes out to buy them (and, as promised, the day that Shayne finally gives in to her requests and goes back to the gym and visibly sparks up a little after he does), when he needs a bath on the Wednesday evening. Shayne is bathing him, this time, but Courtney leans on the bathroom door frame, gasping in relieved surprise when his cries break for a moment after Shayne sets the small blue squeaking rubber bear – it had been cuter than the ducks, although Courtney had also bought some ducks just in case – just near his hand and he reaches for it, grabbing it firmly in his hand. It lets out a warbled half-squeak as his small grip just manages to reach the squeaker, and Charlie immediately throws it away from him – out of the small infant bath they have been bathing him in until he's big enough to actually use their bathtub – and bursts into tears all over again.