The Bond

She's crying. Again. Always weeping and wailing. It's annoying, really. And depressing. Honestly, I think she cries more than the baby, and he cries plenty. Sometimes it's both of them together. A lesser woman wouldn't be able to handle it, you mark my words. A weakling would have cracked and left by now. But I'm no weakling. He is just old enough to bawl properly, now. He's left that delicate and shivering lamb-like bleat in the dust, and he can work up to a really good shriek in nothing flat. Face red, tiny fists bunched tight, lungs really going for it. What a set of lungs my little lad has! Just like his father! People said my smoking was no good, but the boy could have rivalled Freddie Mercury if he weren't tone deaf. Of course, she, the wet rag that she is, she won't have me smoking anywhere near this baby. I'm practically banished from the property if I want a ciggy. Her Majesty has rules. She sniffs me when I come back in! If she smells any smoke on me, she hovers like one of them mozzies, and tries to stop me picking him up. "Third hand smoke" she calls it. Nonsense, of course. I stop myself from batting her away.

"If I can smell it on you," she says, "he will breathe the chemicals in." Ridiculous, her airs and graces. First hand smoke never did me any harm, never mind third. Nor his father, if it comes right down to it. You'd think she was the first person ever to have a baby, the way she carries on. As if she knows the first thing about minding a baby! She doesn't know it all. Her with her squashy tit, leaking that watery stuff everywhere. She calls it "milk" but I can't see how it's any good. Not good enough for any boy of mine, that's certain. No, there's a reason he was so scrawny, and never slept, and always cried... She said he was "colicky". Rubbish! It was her fault. Her with her nonsense rules. And now he's gaining weight beautifully. Such a bonnie lad! And it's thanks to me. While Her Royal Highness is napping I top him up with some of the good stuff. He sucks on the bottle, greedy and strong, and it warms my heart, it really does. She thinks she knows best, pffft! I was a mother before she ever was, wasn't I? She's awake now, still in a robe at this hour of the afternoon, and she's waving her floppy, wet breast at him. "Please," she says, the waterworks starting already, "Please!" I swear, she drips from every part of her body. My little lad, though, he's not having it. He's arching his back and screeching, as if he's just as offended by that revolting pink bullseye as I am. Oh yes, it warms my heart.

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Editing to add a quick author's note:

THANK YOU to everyone who has commented, and who has welcomed me back so warmly after my break.

If you've been following me at all, you know I was continuing a story-a-day streak after my year of stories last year. Unfortunately, I got pretty ill for a couple of weeks, and I broke my nearly 500 day streak. I'm completely fine now, and keen to break my record.

If you've written something lately you especially would like me to read, please tell me about it and leave me a link in the comments.

See you tomorrow!