Meet Baby Morgan (Clara Andrews Series - Book 5) Read online

  Flashing Oliver an excited smile, I help him to unbuckle Noah’s seat and gingerly slide out of the car. With all the nightmare labour stories that I was told prior to the birth, I can’t believe that nobody warned me about how painful walking and peeing would be after the main event. Talk about an unexpected add on. I thought I was home and dry. Before I went into labour, I had dreamt up images of myself strolling out of the hospital with perfectly curled hair and a pretty summer dress, just like Kate Middleton. The reality couldn’t be more different. Putting one foot in front of the other at a snail’s pace, I lean on Janie’s shoulder and slowly make my way over the gravel.

  Despite the pain, watching Oliver carry our son over the threshold makes me beam with pride. This is what it has all been for. The nausea, the house move, the car swap, the labour. All that pain and those lifestyle changes were for this moment right here. Our little boy is going to make our beautiful new house a home. Stepping into the porch, I shuffle into the living room and carefully take a seat on the couch.

  ‘You must be starving, Clara. Do you want me to run out and grab us all some food?’ Oliver asks, stroking my hair gently.

  My stomach grumbles at the mention of food and I smile up at my husband gratefully. ‘That would be great.’ In all the excitement of this morning I have forgotten to eat.

  Grabbing his car keys, he kisses all three of us before slipping out of the door, leaving Janie and I alone with Noah. For a moment neither of us say anything, we just sit staring at the sleeping baby in front of us. Snoozing in his car seat, he looks so blissfully content. It’s like he has been here all along. Already I can’t remember what it was like to not have him around.

  ‘Coffee?’ Janie asks, kicking off her hot pink wedges.

  ‘Coffee sounds amazing!’ I stretch out my legs on the couch as she disappears into the kitchen. ‘On second thoughts, can you make mine decaf? The doctor said to avoid too much caffeine.’

  My phone pings from the depths of my handbag, causing Noah to stir in his sleep. Not wanting to wake him I reach down to retrieve the chirping handset. Tapping on the screen, I am shocked to see that I have forty-seven Twitter notifications. I scroll through a bunch of congratulatory tweets and type out quick responses. Since my mother left the hospital this morning, she has called no less than six times to see how we are getting on. Has he opened his eyes yet? Has he cried? Has he pooped? I glance over at Noah and feel my mouth stretch into a smile. It seems that my mother’s hands on approach to her role as a grandparent is going to balance out Janie’s aloof response just fine. Totally lost in the moment, I almost don’t see Janie holding out my favourite mug.

  ‘Thank you so much. The coffee at the hospital is diabolical.’ I take a sip and screw up my nose in revulsion. ‘And so is this. Gosh, I forgot how much I hate decaf.’

  I let out a huge yawn and run a hand through my hair, silently cursing as my engagement ring gets tangled in my web of curls. For the first time since we left the hospital, Noah lets out a whimper which quickly escalates into an almighty scream.

  ‘I’ll get him.’ Janie sighs, realising that I am imprisoned in my own wild mane.

  Scooping him up, she removes his tiny hat and rocks him back and forth gently. Seemingly entranced by Janie’s strong Texan accent, Noah silences immediately and curls up his legs. Settling into a plush armchair, Janie expertly positions Noah on her arm and gets comfortable.

  ‘So, we’re really sticking with Noah then?’ She raises her already worryingly high tattooed on eyebrows and purses her lips.

  ‘Yes!’ I retort, finally tiring of her digs at our choice of name. ‘Do you not like Noah?’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like it. I just think it would be nice for him to have a Morgan family name, that’s all.’

  ‘OK…’ I reply slowly, not really liking where she is going with this. ‘Like Randy?’

  Don’t get me wrong, Randy may be a traditional name across the pond, but here in England it is a first class ticket to playground bulling.

  ‘Or… Ernie.’ An unreadable expression spreads across her face as a look of sheer horror appears on mine.

  Oh, God. She cannot be serious! I knew that I didn’t like where this was going. Ernie Morgan. Baby Ernie. Little Ernest. Nope, not going to happen.

  ‘Actually, I think we will stick with Noah…’

  *

  Throwing back the sheets, I slide beneath the duvet and swoon as I run my legs over the bedding. Whoever said that there’s nothing quite like your own bed was so very right. After just one night on that coarse hospital bedding, I was beyond ready for my luxury Egyptian cotton bedspread. Call me spoilt, but polyester bedding plays havoc with my skin and by havoc, I mean it scratches and I don’t like it.

  The pain killers from the hospital combined with the tiny glass of champagne I had earlier are acting like one hell of a sleeping aid. It is safe to say that I am absolutely exhausted. Believe it or not, pushing a baby out of your vagina really takes it out of you. I glance over at Noah who is happily snoozing in his Moses basket. Part of me is scared to go to sleep for fear of him disappearing when I wake up. Crazy, I know. I just don’t want to miss a second of him. Watching that little chest go up and down has become my favourite thing to do.

  Pulling him closer to the bed, I allow my eyes to close and will myself to drift off. After not drinking for almost a year, the tiny bit of alcohol from earlier is making me feel lovely and fuzzy inside. Prior to falling pregnant, it would take a good bottle of Rioja to get the same effect. I knew there must have been a silver lining to giving up wine for the duration of my pregnancy. Hearing Oliver flick off the bathroom light, I let out a yawn and roll over, wincing at the stinging sensation as I do.

  ‘Mom really isn’t sold on the name Noah.’ Oliver mumbles as he collapses into bed beside me.

  ‘Mmm…’ I respond, not really listening.

  ‘You know, my dad called earlier.’

  ‘Yeah…’ I attempt to peel open my eyes, but my eyelids have suddenly become incredibly heavy.

  ‘Uncle Ernie still isn’t doing all that great.’ He rolls onto his side and I can feel his eyes burning into me. ‘He really is a great guy. One of the best.’ Oliver prods me in the ribs to get my attention. ‘Hey, did you know that Dallas was going to name Weston… Ernie?’

  Suddenly wide awake, I feel frozen to the spot. He better not be suggesting what I think he is suggesting. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that we have six weeks before we have to register the name. We could always change our mind.’ He smiles at me innocently as I stare at him open mouthed.

  ‘No!’ I yell, a little louder than I meant to. ‘He has a name. There is absolutely no way that I am calling my son… Ernie.’

  ‘Why not?’ He fires back, looking slightly annoyed. ‘What’s wrong with Ernie?’

  ‘Everything is wrong with it!’ My heart pounds as I stare at him in disbelief. ‘You can’t be serious, Oliver.’

  ‘Of course I’m serious.’ He leans over and motions to the Moses basket. ‘Look, Noah is a great name. It really is. However, it would be such an accolade for him to have a Morgan family name.’

  Hmm. Morgan family name. Where have I heard that before?

  ‘I don’t just want give our son a name. I want to give him something to live up to.’

  ‘You have got to be kidding me.’ I study his face for a moment, trying to work him out. ‘Why do you hate our child?’

  ‘Can you just say that you will think about it, please?’ Oliver’s eyes look sad and I feel a slight pang of guilt.

  ‘OK. I’ll think about it.’ I offer him a thin smile already knowing that my answer is going to be a firm no.

  Ernie. Ernest. Ernie Morgan. No chance. It’s 2016 for crying out loud! It would be bordering on child abuse! Janie is behind this, I know it. Oliver would never come up with something so preposterous on his own. I should demand to name our son after my cousin Norris and see how he likes that.

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nbsp; ‘Don’t you have any other amazing family members that you would like to honour?’ I know I am taking a stab in the dark here, but nothing can be as bad as Ernie.

  He shakes his head in response and flicks off the television. Too tired to discuss this now, I pull the sheets up to my chin and try to forget about the whole thing. Our son already has a name, Noah. The name that we settled on months ago. As I try to get comfortable, I can’t help but feel a little bad for killing Oliver’s idea before I even had the chance to think about it properly. Maybe there is something slightly more contemporary that we could agree on. Suddenly a thought enters my mind.

  ‘Oliver, does Ernie have a middle name?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Oliver replies, snuggling into my back.

  ‘What is it?’ Feeling optimistic, I hold my breath as I await his response.

  ‘Billy-Bob. Ernie Billy-Bob Morgan.’

  ‘Oh…’

  I bite my lip and curse myself for asking. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe Ernie isn’t that bad after all…

  A new baby will make love stronger, days shorter and nights longer.

  Much longer…

  Chapter 7

  Wiping a blob of baby sick from my dressing gown, I place Noah back into his Moses basket and let out an almighty yawn. After much discussion, Oliver has finally dropped the whole Ernie thing and I couldn’t be happier about it. At one point I almost gave in and agreed to name our son Billy-Bob just to shut him up. Yes, it’s true that sleep deprivation makes you do crazy things. The first few weeks at home with Noah went by in a blur of exhaustion and excitement. Don’t get me wrong, obviously I knew that new-born babies do not sleep through the night, but I really wasn’t expecting Noah to wake up no less than six times in a twelve-hour period. Despite Oliver trying to participate in the night feeds, the fact that he doesn’t have a pair of lactating breasts means that the majority of the work load falls onto my shoulders.

  Thankfully, we have had Janie around to help with things and my mum has been paying us daily visits too. Without them I am pretty sure that I would be like the walking dead right about now. It’s safe to say that I have developed a new found respect for women who do this alone. Looking around the living room, I take in all the congratulatory cards and thank my lucky stars that I have such a great support network. From beautiful bouquets to cute teddy bears and balloons, we have been showered with more gifts than we know what to do with. Noah Morgan is a very lucky baby. I hear Oliver and my dad laughing loudly in the kitchen and look over at the two of them smiling broadly. I don’t think I have ever seen Oliver happier. He has taken to this like a duck to water. Even the dirty nappies haven’t fazed him. I wish I could say the same for myself. I was honestly shocked to discover what a stink such a tiny baby could produce.

  My mum takes a seat on the couch next to me and smiles innocently.

  ‘Why don’t you let me keep an eye on the baby for a while? Go run yourself a bath and take a nap. He won’t need feeding again for a few hours.’

  ‘Really?’ The prospect of a warm bath and some much needed sleep makes me buzz with anticipation. ‘That would be amazing.’

  If you would have told me a few weeks ago that I would be this excited about a dip in the tub and catching forty winks, I wouldn’t have believed you. Leaving my mum with the baby, I slip out of the room and make my way to the bathroom. My eyes land on the unopened bottle of Jo Malone on the windowsill. Oh, how I have missed you. Grabbing a towel, I turn on the taps and pour in a full bottle of bubbles, watching the water glisten as it splashes into the tub. Not wanting to wait for it to fill up, I remove my dressing gown and drop it into the laundry basket. Catching a glimpse of my bedraggled reflection in the mirror, I let out a little gasp. The baby puke wasn’t the only thing that I had to worry about. The bags under my eyes are bigger than my Prada tote and to say that my hair is overdue a wash is an understatement. How can this much damaged be caused in three short weeks?

  Climbing into the water, I breathe a sigh of relief and flick off the tap with my foot. I cannot believe that I took a luxury like this for granted before. Tipping back my head, I reach for the shampoo and start to lather up. With all the visitors and well-wishers that we have had over the past few days, it has been impossible to have anything more than a quick run under the shower. For someone who has nightly soaks and moisturises daily, this has been a huge lifestyle adjustment. Whilst my hygiene might have suffered as a result of becoming a mother, my hearing has improved dramatically. I am pretty sure that I would be able to hear Noah’s cries from a mile away. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Oliver who could happily sleep through a hurricane.

  Realising that I am struggling to stay awake, I quickly wash my hair and pull the plug. I might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but I am pretty sure that lounging in the bath when you are on the verge of being comatose is not a good idea. Wrapping myself in my fluffy bathrobe, I shove a toothbrush into my mouth and squeeze the excess water out of my hair. The doorbell chirps loudly and I hear a rush of commotion downstairs. Despite being horrendously tired, curiosity gets the better of me and I pad across the landing to see who it is.

  Peering out of the window I see Lianna’s car parked outside. Even from all the way up here I can see that the car is full of gifts. Blue balloons are squashed against the windows and dozens of glossy gifts bags are crammed together to make room for what looks like a huge cake. What on earth has she been buying now? I am about to go down and greet her when I spot Eve climbing out of the passenger seat. Lianna trots over to the car in her heels and I can’t help but notice that they are both immaculately dressed. I watch them laughing and joking as they ferry gifts into the house. I just knew that they would get along like a house on fire.

  As much as I want to join them, I am very aware that my battery level is verging on empty and I am not in a position to turn down the prospect of an hour’s sleep. My friend Gina once told me that you know you’re a mum when your deepest, darkest fantasies are about sleeping. I think we can safely to say that I have finally joined the mummy club…

  That awful moment when you are changing a nappy and realise that the brown thing on your finger is actually poop…

  Chapter 8

  Staring at the nappy in confusion, I lift up Noah and shake my head in disbelief as it falls to the floor. What is wrong with the damn thing? This is my fifth attempt at getting it to stay put and I am no closer to success than when I started twenty minutes ago. I mean, how difficult can putting a nappy on possibly be? Letting out a frustrated sigh, I reach for a new nappy and start the whole process all over again.

  Bum up, nappy under, legs down…

  ‘Arghhhh!’ Before I can it stop it from happening, Noah pees all over me and successfully drenches my new blouse in urine.

  Great, I mumble under my breath. This is the first time that I have been properly dressed since I left the hospital nearly a month ago and it has lasted less than an hour. Believe it or not, I even managed a quick slick of lip gloss before Noah started to scream the house down. Tugging off my blouse, I toss it onto the bed and grab a t-shirt from the wardrobe. When people warned me of how much laundry you have to do when you have children, I didn’t realise that my clothes that would be getting ruined too. It turns out that it’s not just Noah who requires a change of clothes twice a day due to one accident or the other.

  Telling myself that I can do this, I take a deep breath. I must have changed Noah’s nappy a hundred times before, why am I finding it so bloody difficult today? Has he grown another leg or something and I just haven’t noticed? Looking down to check I shake my head in response. Nope. Two arms, two legs, ten fingers and ten toes. Just like I remembered. Maybe it’s just a faulty batch, or maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t had more than two hours sleep for the past five nights.

  This whole no sleep thing combined with a zero coffee policy is nothing short of awful. I thought it would be the alcohol that I would miss whilst breastfeeding, but the no
caffeine rule is killing me. Satisfied that I have done the best that I can with his nappy, I slip him into a baby grow and clear away the mess I have made. With Oliver back at work and Janie at the supermarket, Eve has arranged to come around to keep Noah and I company. Checking my watch, I realise that she will be here at any second and quickly try to tidy the place up. Nappies, bottles, onesies and booties cover every surface, making the once beautiful house look like a baby tornado has hit it.

  Flicking on the coffee machine, I just about have time to put out some cookies before the doorbell pings loudly. Praying that Noah doesn’t start screaming, I run down hallway and throw open the door.

  ‘Hi, Eve!’ I throw my arms around her neck and welcome her inside.

  ‘Hello! How are you?’ Smiling brightly, she pulls off her Hunter wellies and pads into the living room. ‘You’ve got puke on your sleeve.’

  Looking down at my top in horror, I feel my cheeks turn pink and grab a baby wipe from Noah’s changing bag. How? How could this have happened? Seven minutes ago it was freshly pressed and hanging in my wardrobe!

  ‘So, how is little Ernie doing?’ Poking her head into his Moses basket, she strokes Noah’s hand gently and flashes me a wicked smile.

  ‘For the hundredth time, we are not calling him that.’ I know that she’s joking, but I’m getting really worried he is going to start recognising that as his name.

  ‘I think Ernie is a cute name.’ Eve grabs a cookie and produces a bottle of coconut water from her handbag. ‘Plus, he kind of looks like an Ernie.’