It had felt like small consolation that he’d subsequently swept through the hospital actively looking forward to collecting his daughter and hopefully spending a little quality time with her before putting her down in her cot.
* * *
And now, he stepped into his voluminous hallway at home, Imogen finally in his arms, as the home automation system was already lighting the house for them.
‘So what shall we do, hey?’ he asked his unblinking daughter.
As if in response, a pungent smell filled the air.
Wait, was that...?
He didn’t need to lift Imogen too close to his nose before he had the confirmation he needed.
‘Right, little lady.’ He headed quickly for the stairs, grateful to be occupying himself. ‘You definitely need a change.’
Whether she resented being taken in the opposite direction from her play mat, or simply the fact that she could sense his tenseness, her wail of objection began even before Max lowered her onto the changing mat. Pulling her legs into her tummy and trying to roll over, she made it clear that she wasn’t going to make this an easy change for him.
For a moment, Max stared hopelessly. This afternoon’s complex procedure had been challenging and exhilarating, but he hadn’t questioned his ability for a second. So how was it that now, faced with a five-month-old baby in a dirty nappy, he was filled with self-doubt?
Ridiculous.
It might be true, but it didn’t seem to make it any easier. Imogen clearly didn’t trust him, which didn’t make him feel any more confident.
What would Evie do?
Tentatively he lowered his head and, finding the bare skin on one flailing arm, he blew a brief raspberry. The effect was immediate as the wailing stopped. He lifted his head to let his eyes meet his daughter’s. She was watching him carefully, prepared to give him a chance, but woe betide him if he moved too fast.
With a little more confidence, he blew another raspberry, on her cheek this time.
The giggle of response was heart-lifting. Max felt an unexpected surge of pride at the simple achievement of making his daughter laugh. The tentacles of a bond began to reach out between father and daughter, and as his confidence grew so too did Imogen’s trust in him.
Within minutes, he had her relaxed and ready to be changed, as she happily allowed him to unbutton her Babygro and open the sticky tabs holding her nappy on.
He’d known babies’ nappies smelled; he’d been around a few. But he’d never been this close to a freshly removed one before. Max wrinkled his nose in disbelief.
‘That can’t really have all come from you,’ he teased dramatically, eliciting more giggles. ‘What have they been feeding you, hey?’
He pulled a handful of wipes out of the packet, paused, then doubled it. He could hear Evie’s soft chuckle of amusement in his head but he didn’t care.
Then he glanced back at the nappy with concern.
‘You’re not coming down with something, are you?’
His head moved automatically to check her forehead, her tummy. There was no suggestion of a temperature, but still.
He’d heard of doctors—good, competent doctors—who reassured other parents about their babies every day, but who had to get colleagues to check things when they had babies of their own because they couldn’t trust their own judgement. They’d always claimed it was different when it came to your own children.
He’d always thought it ridiculous. Now he wasn’t so sure.
The idea of Imogen coming down with any kind of infection, especially given her additional vulnerability, actually caused his chest to tighten. The edges of a fear he’d never before experienced.
He thrust the thought away. No, the medical bit was the stuff he could trust; that bit he understood. Reaching for the LCD screen from the wall, Max typed in a search. Then he compared the image on the screen in front of him with the nappy. Definitely the expected colour. Imogen was fine.
And since when did he panic over nothing? Since when had he ever panicked?
Even so, it took him several minutes of carefully lifting Imogen’s ankles and methodically cleaning all traces until she was perfectly pink and clean, and smelling of baby wipes, until his heart finally started to slow down. Then, dabbing a little cream in place, he deftly secured a fresh nappy in place, before lifting her up to check his handiwork.
‘Pretty good.’ He nodded his head at Imogen. ‘We did a good job there, little lady.’