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adore-laur · 2 months ago

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MOTHER’S DAY

— from the dadrry universe 🌷

——

Toss. Turn. Sigh. Repeat.

Postpartum anxiety kept hitting you in explosive bursts like crash cymbals. Intrusive worries about whether your newborn was breathing or not ruthlessly stormed your brain. Surging heart palpitations that ebbed and flowed like the ocean tide weren't helping your internally erratic state.

She hadn't wailed those gut-wrenching cries in over an hour. It was a brief slot of time to catch up on your precious slumber, yet your melatonin was overrun by an influx of cortisol. Due to your ruptured sleep schedule, there was also a stinging sensation behind your eyelids. It felt like chlorine or lemon juice had seeped into your sockets ever since day and night swapped places.

The speckled sky of stars trickled through the linen drapes, painting moonbeams on the bedroom carpet and walls. By the looks of it, you'd undoubtedly be awake to behold the moment they metamorphosed into golden rays of dawn.

Heart thumping, stomach churning, and chest constricting, you surrendered your chance of a reposeful night of rest and silently slid out of bed. Harry was gently snoring on his side, facing away from you and dead to the world. Lucky him.

You padded over to the bassinet across the room. The moon made it visible enough to see the tiny bundle that was half you and half your husband sleeping there. Your trembling hand reached down and lightly rested on your daughter's belly. It has been a habit lately. Your eyes couldn't help but snap open in the middle of the night, the insomnia-induced anxiety getting you on your feet to check if the human you were responsible for was still alive.

When you felt her fast breaths, relief immediately flooded your bloodstream. You stayed by her until you were at ease with the steady rise and fall of her chest, then eventually tucked yourself back under the covers and leaned against the headboard. You were wide awake now, and it seemed like it would be another all-nighter. Jealousy festered inside you because of Harry and how he could effortlessly sleep through the night without panic. He'd been so gracious with heaving himself out of bed and calming the baby whenever it was his turn—a true natural when you needed it most. And during those instances, you pretended to be asleep so you didn't worry him. It was hard enough to soothe one agitated person, let alone two.

The digital clock on the nightstand flicked from 2:36 to 2:37. You bit your fingernails to pass the time. The weight and warmth of Harry beside you pulled you back down to earth, reminding you that you weren't doing this on your own. He was cheering you on, on the same page, and loving you unconditionally.

Almost as if he could hear your reeling thoughts about him, you heard his snores get cut short by a deep inhale before his hand subconsciously flopped against your thigh. Fatigued fingers felt around until his warm, heavy palm spread on your skin, giving it a tender squeeze. He then rolled onto his stomach with a raspy grunt and turned his head to face you.

In the faint moonlight, puffy eyes and a drowsy smile said hello. They greeted you with a gentleness that washed away the burdensome stones on your chest. He made you feel calm. Just one glance at him was the only solace you needed.

He was a tired, tired boy. Technically, he was a grown man, but moments like these revealed that he was just a boy adjusting to the harsh reality of parenthood.

"Sorry for waking you," you whispered, raking your fingers through his disheveled hair. It was still a little damp from his nightly shower.

"Did I sleep through her cries?" Harry murmured hoarsely, his eyelids drooping until they shut again.

"No. I just got up to check on her."

He hugged your leg like it was a pillow. "Why? What happened?"

You could've lied. Or you could've given him what he always asked of you: the whole and honest truth. The latter was the wisest choice, considering he could read you like a family recipe.

"I had to make sure she was breathing," you admitted.

Harry was eerily quiet. You thought he might have fallen back asleep, but suddenly, the room was illuminated in a yellow glow from the bedside lamp being switched on. It strained your vision for a few seconds, and after blearily blinking through it, you looked at Harry to find him sitting up with the silk sheets bunched around his waist. He yawned loudly, then scooted over to draw you into his body. A trace of citrus aftershave still lingered on his skin.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, his lips moving against your temple.

Your cheek melted on his warm, bare shoulder. "Ever since we brought her home, my anxiety has been eating me alive at night. I'm constantly worried about her, even when she's not crying."

Harry planted chaste kisses on your face. Through slow, sleepy affection, he said, "She's okay. Nothing bad is going to happen."

"You don't know that."

"I know she's safe and sound, all snug in the bassinet six feet away from us." When you didn't respond, he added, "If you want, we can move it next to your side of the bed."

You clutched his hand, loving the smoothness of his palm and how large it was compared to yours. "Can we? Please? I want her close just in case."

Nodding, Harry brought your joined hands up to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. "Let's do it tomorrow so we don't wake her, yeah? We all need sleep right now."

"Okay. Can you scratch my back? And talk to me."

"Of course, sweetheart. Turn around."

You did, and it didn't take long for him to lift your shirt so his delicate fingers could stroke along the expanse of your back. Goosebumps spread everywhere as you sank deeper into the mattress. The way his touch could envelop you in a blanket of comfort was miraculous.

"Your postpartum checkup is in a couple of weeks," Harry mentioned, his mellow voice quickly putting a sleep spell on you. "We'll talk to the doctor about everything that's been going on, okay?" He shifted on the bed. "Listen, I get scared too. All I want is to protect her. When she cries, I feel helpless. But we're learning, aren't we? We'll be professionals by the time we're four kids in."

You couldn't squash the craziness of his last statement because distant dream waves finally carried you away and let you drift in calm waters for the first time in a long time.

——

A serenade of songbirds awoke you the following morning. Then, there was a slight breeze coming from somewhere. You soon realized there was no familiar dip in the mattress next to you, no blazing hot skin glued to you, and no soft puffs of air against your neck. You firmly decided that you loathed the feeling of a cold and empty bed in the morning.

Stretching until your joints cracked, you squinted from the blinding sunlight gloriously casting over the side of the bed you lay on. The clock displayed 9:04, which was the latest time you had slept in since your third trimester of pregnancy. On top of the clock was a piece of paper you didn't recall seeing yesterday—the type of paper you and Harry wrote grocery items on. The familiar handwriting of your husband, which was a tad illegible but endearing nonetheless, had you reaching out and plucking the note from its place.

Happy Mother's Day.

Meet me on the beach when you wake up. Baby has already been changed, fed, and everything in between. Sunday breakfast on the shore, made by yours truly, awaits you.

I love you so much. Thank you for completing me.

~ Harry

It entirely slipped your mind that it was Mother's Day—your first one. You'd been too caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, trying to capture a peaceful moment. Needless to say, you didn't even know what day of the week it was sometimes. Apparently, today was worth celebrating.

After freshening up and tying a robe around yourself, you trod down the staircase. The late spring weather engulfed your senses as the kitchen came into view. The shutters were swung open, letting in gleaming sunshine and a gentle wind that felt like a welcoming embrace. It lifted your spirits instantly and caused you to temporarily forget about last night's troubles.

You ventured to the beach area, the sand under your uncovered feet enlivening your drained state. Once the ocean became visible, you quickly stumbled upon an unexpected surprise. Harry, the human epitome of sunshine, stood there holding a tray with a vase of blooming flowers, a cup of steaming tea, and breakfast foods such as peeled clementine, poached eggs, and a golden-brown waffle drizzled with maple syrup. He was in his pinstriped pajamas, with sunglasses covering his eyes. Behind him, your daughter lay in a portable baby dome that shielded her from the sunny sky. She was sleeping on her back, her limbs bent adorably. You didn't recall hearing her cry after you finally managed to doze off last night.

Barefoot, with a radiant smile dimpling his sun-kissed face, Harry met you halfway, setting the tray down on a nearby blanket spread out. His arms opened in invitation. You would have jumped in them if you had the energy, merely because his spontaneous thoughtfulness made you want to tackle him and never let him go—lovingly, of course.

"Make way for the goddess," he said, taking his sunglasses off and eyeing you up and down.

Makeup-less, half asleep, and moving at the sluggish speed of a sloth, you felt—and probably looked—far from a goddess. But when your husband looked at you like he wanted to eat you for breakfast instead, the tiniest flicker of confidence sparked inside of you.

"Good morning," you greeted, smiling softly.

Harry's hands instinctively splayed on your waist, his fingers digging into the cotton fabric of your robe. He was sporting a dopey expression, and you wondered if he got as little sleep as you did.

Enduring delirious mornings with him had slowly become your favorite domestic kryptonite. When he'd crack ridiculous jokes amidst a quick, lazy round of sex before the baby interrupted, or when he would shuffle around the kitchen making an insufficient meal while accidentally putting the milk jug in the pantry out of pure exhaustion.

"Let me guess," he said with an exhale, "you forgot it was Mother's Day?"

You squeezed him tight and breathed in the faint smell of lavender fabric softener on his pajamas. "Can you blame me? I'm practically a zombie most days." You kissed him slowly, tasting the sweet and sticky syrup residue on his lips. "Mm, but thank you for everything. You take such good care of me."

"Someone's got to do it," he told you, earnestness lacing his words.

"I'm trying; I really am. Motherhood is... very grueling."

"I know, darling. Whatever you need, let me know, and I'll help as best I can."

You touched his cheeks, absorbing the sun's heat that graced them. "I want to take care of you too. I notice how tired you are."

He fell into deep thought, and after staring at you for a moment with his eyes dancing over your entire face, he said, "Let's bring back date nights. When was the last time we went out, just the two of us? We can get someone to babysit, then go out on the town like we used to."

"Can part of our date night involve taking a nap?" you asked, propping your chin on his chest.

Harry glanced down at you, his green irises clear and happy. "Absolutely."

"Sounds like a plan." You laughed at its absurdity. How did we go from 'I can't wait to marry you' to 'I can't wait to nap with you'? What has parenting done to us?"

He tilted his head with a lopsided grin. "It's made me fall in love with you all over again."

"Even when there's spit-up on my clothes?"

"Uh-huh," he said, locking you in his hold. "And when you're burping a cranky baby while eating your first meal of the day well past noon. And when you're breastfeeding while sending work emails, your hair unbrushed, and my shirt hanging off your body. There's nothing sexier."

Truthfully, he wasn't joking around. And you knew that one day, you'd find simplistic beauty in those things as well.

"I'm a real sight for sore eyes."

Harry kissed your forehead, swaying you to the sound of the waves meeting the shore and then receding. "You have no idea."

——

#🤍

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