A Comfy Kind Of Restless

Hello!

Again, today’s piece seems a little disjointed, but I am still skirting around the same subject and main character…

Tomorrow (Saturday) I am off out with Hubby for the day as part of my imminent birthday, leaving the kids at my parents’.  I am hoping to thrash out the plot properly when we sit and write a little in a coffee shop as we like to do sometimes!  I probably won’t get much time to write after I come back and get the kids settled etc tomorrow, but I will try my hardest to get a full an edited story up on the blog by the end of Sunday 😉

This challenge is not running as smoothly as I thought it would, but it is really making me think while examining my creative process, which is very useful as well as fascinating! 

Her fingernails were ridiculously tiny, and scrabbled so urgently on Marilyn’s skin in the night, that it made anxiety spike.  Would the baby be this frantic if Marilyn was fulfilling all her needs?

Would she not be content to lie away from her mother, in that contraption ‘the expectant couple’ built together (through a hail of crossed words, stopping once for Marilyn’s tears, and many times for declarations that the manufacturers were sadistic jokers)?  It attached to the bed now.  It had been set to the right height.  Marilyn could still reach her arm over and offer a finger to hold or arm to caress…but the baby was not impressed.

The baby needed all of her mother.   Not just the breast and the milk and the promise of clean clothes and nappies – the baby needed to be enveloped in her mother’s scent, peek under clothes; small digits in every fold of skin around an armpit.  Tapping in a random sequence.

Those waving little arms when she did sleep were hoping to make contact with a warm patch of skin that was not her own, but still an extension of her.  An anchor to the familiar, an assurance that all was well.

Those deep blue eyes saw things differently, could give Marilyn clarity if only she would take the time to look.  In that young soul lay reality in all its permutations…but that was frightening, and Marilyn did not have the strength to face it all alone.

(246 words)

[Pic is from here]

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