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“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I said in a low, sharp tone. What was I going to do with a broken pump? And an overly full, painful breast?
Carlo walked back in, Nicco screaming, even angrier than before. He was acting like Carlo was trying to kill him with the bottle in his hand. His head twisted and turned from side to side, doing everything he could to avoid drinking it.
“What’s wrong?” Carlo’s deep voice traveled through the bedroom.
“My pump is broken. And my breast is killing me. I can’t believe he skipped a feeding. He’s never done that before.”
I motioned him over. “Here, hand him to me.”
Carlo reluctantly gave me Nicco. I laid him down with me. I had both babies on me, football style on my lap. So, they could see each other. I took the bottle from Carlo and offered it to Nicco.
All that did was make him yell louder.
“Yikes, you really don’t like formula. Do you?” I asked as I touched his red, chubby face. “Shh, you have to eat little man. Look at your brother. He’s eating. You need to have some breakfast, too. Your tummy must be hurting you.”
I felt my eyes begin to tear up as I thought about how uncomfortable he must be. No food.
No mother.
Living in a house with virtual strangers. The poor little guy must be so scared.
Try as I might—nothing worked. I couldn’t trick him into drinking from his bottle.
Carlo sat down beside us, and I handed the bottle to him. Then I felt a wetness down my belly. I looked to see that I was leaking. “Dammit. Can you get me a towel, please? I’m leaking.”
Carlo jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom.
Nicco just laid there, fussing and screaming his little heart out. It was at that moment—I remembered the afternoon when Marcello was screaming. Not wanting his bottle, either. I’d been a crappy mother. Not once had I fed my son.
And then, by accident, as I was covered in loose hair and hair treatment—and soap—he’d found my nipple and started to drink.
Would this work?
And if it did—could I do this? With someone else’s baby?
Nicco and I didn’t share a shred of DNA. We’d only met just over a week ago.
I was a perfect stranger to him.
Just as he was to me.
Could I do this?
“Come here, honey. You need to eat.” I pulled him closer to me—and I offered him my breast.
It took us a few tries. But lots of good things began with false starts.
Eventually, Nicco latched onto me.
And drank.
My breast still hurt, but the relief I felt as he drank was real. Without Nicco, I’d be in even more pain soon.
I kept my hand on the back of his head and stared into his beautiful blue eyes. His eyes locked onto mine—like he was asking me a question. A question I didn’t understand.
“You’re okay. See your brother? He’s a good eater. And you will be, too. Shh.” I stroked the side of his tear-stained face with my thumb. “You’re okay, now. You’re just hungry.” After a few minutes, the strangeness between us seemed to disappear. And Nicco settled into me. Maybe trusting me a little more than he did before.
When Carlo touched my arm, I jumped. He was right beside me. I hadn’t even noticed he came back. “Is this—okay?” he asked me with an odd look on his face.
