Temporary Secretary

Part 83

20 December 1981

Sunday 9:00am

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It was a lazy morning. The window was tinged with frost, but it was warm in the cottage.

You opened your eyes slowly. Paul was sat up slightly, pillow behind his shoulders, letting the baby sleep against his bare chest.

He seemed quite pleased gazing down. So prideful.

Your eyes shut, still not completely awoken.

He was such a good mother. You wouldn't say it, though, he'd get huffy again.

Your arm curled around his waist. In the early hours, you allowed more neediness in your affections, rubbing your cheek against his soft warmth. He even smelled nice, like the bedding.

You knew he didn't love it when you squeezed the softness of his skin, but you couldn't help it, it turned you on. Especially his sides.

You exhaled.

He was talking to the baby. His voice was smaller, pinched.

"Hullo, baby." He said. "Y'know me, don't you? Y'know my voice, lovie. It's your Daddy."

She must be awake, her eyes open, by the sound of his voice. She was often silent when not crying, not much one for cooing (to Paul's disappointment). She would open her eyes, scrutinising what she saw. Either that or haziness, focusing here and there, trying to make sense of it.

You gazed up at him dreamily.

Your gaze drifted off. Your arm was curled over his body, forehead against his side.

Paul was giggling.

"Heheh... she's nuzzling me..."

Suddenly, Paul yelped in surprise. You jumped, attention quickly fixing. Though, it seemed more of surprise than pain.

He had dropped Rosemary, but only a few inches, landing in his lap covered by the fluffy duvet. She was startled, though unharmed.

"What?" You said.

Paul's cheeks were pink. He looked at you, then away quickly.

"Did she bite?" You said.

Still, he didn't answer, his face flushed and eyes averted, flustered. His arms were crossed over his chest, as if he were a broad protecting her dignity.

You began to giggle, suspecting what had happened.

"Oh, stop it..." Paul mumbled, eyes narrowed. "She's probably hungry, you should take her."

You reached to pick her up, lowering the strap of your nightgown.

Her eyes were wide, clearly startled still, poor thing, though she didn't cry. You tried bringing her closer, get her to latch. Luckily, she settled, opening her mouth, eyes lazy again, then content feeding.

For all his grievances and grumbling, Paul was staring again, though still standoffish, his arms still covering his chest protectively.

"Would you stop bloody giggling?" He snipped.

"It's okay, Paul." You giggled. "Babies will put their mouth on anything. It's a comfort for them, you know, the action."

Paul remained indignant, his voice raising.

"Oh, come off it!" He said, gritty and fuming. "You're all too happy to confuse her, acting the way you do. It's one thing in the bedroom, but another with my child! I won't bloody have it. Get it through your thick head! You're the woman, I am the man. I'm a father, I'm her daddy. Fucking act like it!"