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  • lisamariecourt

First Transferred Story!

Getting started on transferring my work across from other sites, making some edits where necessary. This creepy little story got a lot of attention on Reddit NoSleep a few years back. I've edited it, got rid of a few inconsistencies with the timeline and tweaked a few things. I'm still not 100% sure it's exactly how I want it to be, but there are elements that I'm quite pleased with. I had originally titled it Motherhood Is Joy and Pain in Equal Measure, but I think I'd like to re-name it for it's new home here on Scribbly Lily.

So, to paraphrase 'Are You Afraid of the Dark?' back in the day....

Submitted for the approval of the readers of this blog, I call this story

'Rockabye.'


They say that immediately after you give birth, you forget about the pain.

I'd always thought that must be a cliché, but as her tiny hand wrapped around my index finger, I did; I forgot. And not just the pain. Everything that had been worrying me throughout the pregnancy- the fear of being a single mother, the panic about whether I'd know how to care for her, the gnawing anxiety about how I'd support us both- all of it went away in that moment.

Another thing that they say is that all babies are beautiful. This is a little less true. Looking through the eyes of love definitely helps matters, but objectively speaking, my little pixie couldn't have been honestly described as 'beautiful' that first day. Her face bore that 'scrunched' look, the result of a (lengthy!) natural birth, and her hair was so sparse and fine that she bordered on bald. There was a vivid red mark down the right side of her face (the midwife needed to trim her nails!) and I could already see that she had her father's slightly weak chin. But her eyes. They were beautiful. I named her Violet Elizabeth for the colour of them, just like Elizabeth Taylor's; so inky and unusual in hue that they could never really be described with an adjective as plain as 'blue.'

She slept in my arms that first night, a warm, milk-scented weight, until drowsiness overtook me. I just couldn't bear to put her down.

Those first few days were blissful. I know a lot of new mothers say they feel exhausted, tearful or a bit uncertain, but I guess I was one of the lucky ones- everything just seemed to come naturally. The nappy changes, the night feeds, none of it fazed me. When the Health Visitor popped in, she laughed. "Like a duck to water," she said, as she observed a feed and change of clothing.

A steady stream of visitors ensured that I had little time to feel lonely or overwhelmed, and as little Violet neared the 2 month mark, she was blossoming into the sort chubby cheeked cherub you see on greetings cards and calendars. Her hair thickened to a dark golden cloud around her face, the scratch on her cheek had long since faded, and when she smiled, she charmed everyone.

Our guests would cluck and coo over her, waving toys in front of her or putting on silly voices. "She's adooorable!" they'd say, and I'd brace myself for the inevitable, "Come on, beautiful, come and have a cuddle with Uncle/Auntie -------!" and smile through gritted teeth as my arms ached to hold her again. I held my breath every time anyone touched her.

I know, it's ridiculous, but she's my baby, my little pixie. And I love holding her, smelling that special vanilla-esque baby-smell from atop her head, feeling her little tummy move in and out with each breath. She's my baby. I hate letting other people hold her, I worry in case they somehow hurt her or won't give her back to me. New-mother paranoia, I know, but I really hate it.

I started finding reasons to avoid other people picking her up. It's time for her feed or her nap, or I think maybe she needs changing. It's getting late, maybe you should leave? "She'll turn into one of those clingy children," my mum warned, when I barely restrained myself from snatching Violet back from her arms, or hovered over her crib to watch her sleep.

I just smiled to myself. It didn't matter. She'd know how much she was loved and wanted, and that's the most important thing. Clingy be damned!

So for the most part, the first 6 months of motherhood were good to me. Obviously, it hasn't all been plain sailing- she gave me quite a fright about a week ago, and we ended up at A&E for a few hours of our Saturday night. It'd happened very suddenly. One minute my little pixie was lying in her crib getting ready for sleep, gurgling away at the neon pink star that was her favourite item from the garish assortment of 'stimulating' items hanging from the mobile above her head, and the next, she started screaming. I mean really screaming, a piercing cry that made my heart hurt to hear it.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. She'd never screamed like that before. She cried sometimes, of course, she was only 6 months old, but never like this! I picked her up and tried to soothe her, but she only cried more loudly, barely pausing to take breaths between heart-wrenching wails. My insides twisted in panic, my mouth went dry and for a second I think I stopped breathing as my body responded instinctively to the pain of my little one.

I tried everything. Feeding, changing, walking around, singing, toys....nothing made a difference. Still she screamed. And as the night wore on, she started to feel really hot.

With her still in my arms, I rummaged around in the bathroom cabinet til I found the baby thermometer. Her temperature was sky high, so I took her straight to the car and drove down to the hospital, heart fluttering all the way. It was such a struggle to focus on the route as her distraught cries reverberated inside the car. I fought the urge to

Just before we got into the car park, the noise stopped. Just stopped completely. She was breathing shallowly, and when I leant over to get her out of the baby carrier, she didn't look at me. Those big, violet eyes seemed focused on something very far away. I ran into the hospital and gabbled to the receptionist about what had happened. She calmed me down enough to establish that Violet was conscious and breathing, so no immediate danger.


The waiting room was full.

"Saturday nights are the worst," the receptionist confided quietly, "Lots of drunks taking up valuable space...the poor doctors, dealing with nonsense like that when they're working a 24-hour shift! God knows how they cope! Now, don't you worry, love, just take a seat, we'll get your baby to the front of the queue."


Sitting under the glare of fluorescents, the smell of disinfectant clogging my nostrils and the row of assorted voices demanding treatment for self-inflicted ailments jangling my nerve endings, I clung to Violet and tried to remain calm. True to the receptionist's word, within a few minutes we were being led to a cubicle by a short, bespectacled man who did his best to reassure me as I repeated my story.


"Well, she's not screaming now, Miss Anderson," he said, listening to her heart, "which is a good sign, she must be feeling better already." "No, but she was, like she was being murdered or something!"

He smiled at me, wearily. "First baby?"

I nodded. He patted my hand. "Probably nothing more than a seasonal cold. It can be quite distressing for the little one the first time they're unwell, and obviously quite upsetting for mum, too. "

"But she had a temperature..."

He touched the back of his hand to her cheek and forehead. "She is a little warm...Did you give her anything for the fever?"

I stood by the side of the bed, trembling as he scribbled on a chart. Guilt washed over me. Why hadn't I given her any medicine? What kind of mother didn't know what to do when her baby was sick?

"No, I-I came straight here."

He tutted. "Always best to treat at home where possible," he said, "They have a baby-safe version of paracetomol now, tastes like strawberry so she won't mind taking it. "

"You're sure she's ok?" I asked, my voice small and breathy.

"She's fine," he said, "Obviously if her temperature spikes or she seems to be in pain, you can bring her back in, but I'm sure there's nothing for you to worry about."

After he said his goodbyes, I went and just sat in the car for about ten minutes, holding Violet close. I was still shaking, replaying the events of the evening over and over in my mind like a bad movie stuck on a loop.

"He said she was fine," I whispered to myself, pressing my lips to her forehead, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and milk, "He said she was fine. She's fine."

After a little while, I felt calm enough to drive us both back home, stopping briefly to buy the liquid paracetomol the doctor had prescribed.

Violet still wasn't quite herself. She kept staring blankly at nothing in particular, was reluctant to have her feed, and although she wasn't registering a particularly high temperature, she still felt too warm. That night I sat awake with her for hours, holding her in my arms, talking softly to her. She was a little raspy for a while, not her normal deep, smooth breaths, but at least she wasn't screaming. She wasn't in pain.

Within a few hours she'd stopped making that strange snuffling sound and her fever was gone. I carried on with my routine. Washing, ironing, changes, bath time, nap time, feeding.

A few friends called round for coffee on Tuesday, but I sent them away. After the scare we've had, the last thing I want is to have to hand her over to the world and his wife for cuddles.

I held her close, sang to her and played with her, enjoying the time alone.

Those big, purple eyes gazed up into mine, trustingly, and I smiled as I stroked her curls away from her face.

Of course, when my mum called round yesterday, there was no saying no to her.

Grandmother's are a force more formidable than any other, and trying to refuse them is like trying to control a tidal wave.


"Violet, grandma's here!" I sang, showing my mum through into the kitchen. Violet was in her highchair by the counter, where she could see us while we talked.

"We're happy you're here, aren't we, baby? Aren't we happy to see Granny? Did you notice she's wearing the new top you got her?" I asked mum, "Doesn't she look precious?"

I put the kettle on and asked if mum wanted tea or coffee. She didn't answer.

"Mum?" I repeated, "I said, tea or coffee? I've got some of those biscuits you like, as well, if you're not still on that silly diet...?"

"Um, I'll have tea, please, darling," she said, not meeting my gaze.

"Everything alright, mum?"

"Y-yes, yes, fine. And how are you? Is....is everything...fine with you?"

"Yes, we're doing great, aren't we, Violet?" I gently tousled her curls and pulled a funny face at her.


I busied myself boiling the kettle, cups and teaspoons clattering.

"Sit down, then!" I said, seeing that mum was still hovering near the doorway. She didn't move.

"Ah!" I put the kettle down. "I know what you're waiting for," I teased, hoping to snap her out of her distracted mood.

I got Violet out of the chair and went to hand her over.

"Five minutes," I joked, "that's all you get, you know I get all jealous when someone else has a cuddle! And you're only getting that long cos Violet loves her Granny so much!"

"No- I-I'm not feeling so well, darling," mum said,

I looked at her more closely. She did look somewhat peaky.

"Are you ok? It's nothing serious is it?"

"No, no, probably just something I ate."

"Are you sure? Cos there are some nasty bugs going round. Violet was poorly just last week, weren't you, pixie? Some 24 hour thing. I hope you didn't catch that!"

"I'm sure it's nothing," she said, "I'm just going to use the loo."

She turned and hurried up the stairs.

"Shout me if you need anything!" I called after her.


Not long after she emerged from the toilet, the doorbell rang.

On the doorstep stood two men with dark suits and sombre faces.

They said they needed to talk to me, that it was important.

I let them in/ I've offered them a drink but they won't take one.


The two of them are standing in my kitchen right now.

One of them has just been sick in the sink, the acidic smell is making my stomach churn. The other, tall, with beady eyes, is staring at me, hardly blinking.

My mum is standing behind him, frantically apologising. "I'm sorry, love, I'm so sorry, I called them. I didn't know what else to do..."

I cling to Violet, frightened. "What's going on?" I ask, sweat beading on my forehead.

"You need to come with us, madam," says beady-eyes.

"What are you talking about? Has something happened? Oh, god....Mum, has something happened to dad?!"

My mum stares at me with watery eyes.


"Look at Violet, darling," she half-whispers.

"Wha-"

"Just- look at her, please, darling."

I smile down at the bundle in my arms. Dark golden curls, huge violet eyes, her father's weak chin. So beautiful. My little pixie. I hold her close, press my lips to her cold forehead and breathe the scent of decay barely masked by talcum powder. My smile falters. It's over.


Collapsing to my knees on the kitchen floor, my body shakes with the force of the sobs I've been suppressing for what feels like a lifetime. The world fades to grey around me, and my breasts ache, heavy with milk that Violet doesn't need- hasn't needed for the past week.


I'd sat up with her all night. I was exhausted, must've nodded off, just for a second...when I woke up the rasping had stopped and her temperature was normal. It took a few drowsy moments to realise what that meant. A pressure built up in my chest, flooding upwards into my throat and roaring into my ears as I looked at her. It was like drowning.

I couldn't stand it, I pushed the feeling down. Nononononononono.

She lay there in my arms and she just looked so beautiful. Peaceful. Like she was sleeping. So I told myself she was.


I should have called someone. I know, I know.

But I just couldn't bear to let her go.

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