her with unabashed delight. “I think he does recognize you, Michael.”
Michael studied his son’s cherubic face, deciding Ted Montgomery was right—Timmy did have Kate’s chin. And nose. And eyes. Along with his daddy’s dark, straight hair. “I think he knows your voice, too,” Michael said.
“Probably.” Kate chuckled. “I’ve done nothing but talk and sing and read to him for the last nine months.”
Somehow, Michael thought, as he went to get a diaper from the corner of the bassinet, that didn’t surprise him. He had known from the first Kate was going to be one devoted mother.
He brought the diaper back and watched as Kate unwrapped the white flannel blanket. They changed him together, marveling over his tiny perfect form, as Timmy squirmed. Deciding to reswaddle him after he’d been fed, Kate lifted Timmy toward her. Abruptly, she looked unsure how to proceed. “I’ve never done this before.”
“And you’re feeling self-conscious and would like some help,” Michael guessed, finding that perfectly understandable. He touched her shoulder compassionately, then volunteered, “I’ll go see if I can round up a nurse.”
When he returned—alone—a scant minute and a half later, Kate had lowered one shoulder of her gown, draped the white cotton diaper over one shoulder and was cuddling a loudly protesting Timmy to her breast. Trying not to think how beautiful and sexy Kate looked, Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and announced as he neared, “They’re really swamped. Every baby on the floor has decided he or she is hungry now. They said maybe ten minutes.”
“I tried but I can’t get him to nurse.” Kate looked at Michael helplessly.
Knowing that wasn’t unusual for first-time mothers and their babies, Michael shut the door to her room to insure their privacy and crossed to her side. “Let’s see what we can do to get you more comfortable,” he told Kate gently, repeating what he had learned over the years as both a physician and an uncle.
“For the first few feedings, lying on your side may work best,” Michael told her with a reassuring smile. “So, the first thing we’re going to need to do is get you situated.”
Michael took a loudly squalling Timmy from Kate and cradled him against his chest. With his free hand he pressed the button that would lower the head of her bed. And then helped Kate—who was still moving a little stiffly after the delivery—into a reclining position. “And then pull your arm out of your gown entirely so you’ll have more freedom of movement,” he said.
“Right.” Kate flushed crimson.
“Okay.” Michael helped her free her arm while still maintaining her modesty as best as he could. “Can you shift onto your left side?” Keeping his actions as clinical as possible, he helped her do so. “Good. Let’s put this pillow beneath you.” He moved it longwise, so it cushioned her from head to breast. “And we’ll put your left arm up, like this, so you can rest your head on your upraised arm. And move this cloth aside.” Keeping his mind resolutely on the task at hand, he gently exposed her breast. “Now we’ll get Timmy in here—” Michael placed Timmy on his side, facing Kate, and brought the infant as close as possible to his mother “—and try again.”
Still crying and clueless about what to do next, the newborn turned away and wailed even louder. “See?” Kate cried, distressed, her whole body tensing at her son’s rejection.
Figuring the sooner mother and son connected, the better, Michael looked at Kate, asking to simply show her—through touch—what needed to be done. “May I?”
Flushing and looking a little shy, Kate nodded. Michael covered her hand with his and lifted her nipple toward Timmy’s lips. He touched the top of Timmy’s bow-shaped lips with the tip of Kate’s breast, then the bottom lip, then the top again, repeating the motion gently until Timmy’s mouth opened. Michael continued to help her as he explained, “Once Timmy’s mouth is open, place your nipple in the center so he can latch on.”
Kate’s gaze was fastened on both breast and baby. “He’s not doing it,” she said, obviously disappointed this was proving to be so difficult for both of them.
“Then let’s try it again,” Michael said, aware how silky and warm her skin felt beneath his fingers. “Upper lip. Lower.” Michael smiled as Timmy’s crying quieted and progress was made. “See, he’s starting to root around a bit. Yeah,” Michael said victoriously, as Timmy’s cheeks moved in and out in a clumsy attempt to nurse, “there he goes.”
“He’s nursing!” Kate said as Timmy stopped wailing and latched onto her breast with all his might.
“Darned if he isn’t,” Michael said proudly, feeling as contented and happy as Kate was that this first hurdle with their son had been climbed. “Now there are a few more things to watch out for,” Michael cautioned. He paused, wary of interfering too much. “If you want me to show you…”
Kate nodded and shot Michael a grateful glance. “Please,” she said, eager to learn. “Starting with how long I should nurse him.”
Michael repeated what the lactation nurse would tell Kate later. “For today, no more than five minutes on each breast. You can go ten minutes on each breast tomorrow. After that it’ll be fifteen.”
“How often will I nurse?” Kate asked, as she stroked the downy soft hair on the back of Timmy’s head.
A wave of almost unbearable tenderness moving through him, Michael advised, “Once your milk comes in, you’ll probably need to nurse him every three or four hours.”
Again, their eyes met. “What else should I know?” Kate asked Michael softly.
I’m drawn to you, and would be even if you hadn’t just unexpectedly borne me a son, Michael thought. Knowing, however, this was not the time or place for such a confession, Michael turned his attention to his nursing son. Briefly, he explained how to position Timmy to insure he had plenty of room to breathe while nursing, then said, “Make sure Timmy has a hold on the areola as well as the nipple—sucking on just the nipple will leave him hungry. And be sure he isn’t sucking on his own lip or tongue while he nurses.”
Her self-consciousness temporarily forgotten, Kate continued to nurse. She looked so beautiful and angelic it made his heart ache.
She bent to kiss the top of Timmy’s head, then asked curiously, “What happens if he does any of those things?”
“If he starts sucking on his lower lip, you can simply work it free with your fingertip while he continues to nurse. Otherwise, break the suction and start over again.” Michael continued to watch her another long moment, then glanced at his watch. “Ready to switch sides?”
Kate nodded.
Timmy protested at the interruption, but only half as vigorously as before. “This isn’t as hard as I thought it would be,” Kate murmured. Michael noted she was beginning to look and act as completely exhausted and drowsy as their infant son.
“And it’ll get easier every time,” Michael assured her.
Kate grinned. “How do you know?”
“I’ve got four sisters.” Michael pulled a chair up beside the bed, turned it backward and straddled it. “They all have kids, and all of them nursed. It was hard for all of them in the beginning. Even for Winnie, who’s an obstetrics nurse by profession. But my mom, who’s also a nurse, coached them through it, on the phone and in person. So I know the drill—and then some.”
“Plus you have experience as a doctor.”
“Right again.”
In contented silence, they watched the baby nurse at her breast. “I think he’s falling asleep,” Kate noted, yawning.
Michael picked up Timmy’s tiny fist and kissed the back of it. “Poor fella. He’s probably all tuckered out.” Just like his mother, Michael thought. “Want me to put him in his bassinet?”