I LIVEEEEEEE
It's such a good thing I forgot my early years as a child. Or not, maybe at least I'd know how to live with what’s now my everyday life. All I do is eat (or suckle, really, I don't have much teeth yet), sleep, shit and cry. I cry a lot, for the smallest of reasons. I’m hungry? I cry. Lights too bright? I cry. Someone touches me and they’re not my mom? I cry. Someone talks too loud? Hell, I scream too loud? I cry even louder. I can’t even stop it from happening! It’s so tiring. Can’t imagine how it is for my new mother. She’s gotta be exhausted.
…Well, I don’t always scream because of something. Sometimes I just like being an inconvenience to the hospital staff. Most of them have… a bad smell? Or something. And a shitty voice tone. Don’t like it. I should probably stop doing that. There’s maybe two? Of them who are cool, though.
I can't even see anything clearly, or move on my own, and I keep getting manhandled all the time! Of course I’m gonna belt my lungs out! I can get away with it! I’ve gotta let out my frustration in some way!
I am gonna try to keep the screaming to a minimum when I’m around my mom. I don't wanna inconvenience her any more than this
.
Funnily enough, I can smell things really well. Like, really really well. I already said something about people stinking, right? If I can’t differentiate people by sight or hearing, I can do it by scent. The whole place reeks of antiseptic. I think it’s antiseptic. Is it antiseptic? Whatever. There’s an underlying smell of… sweets. Something sweet. Is there a candy factory nearby? My Mom smells… nice? Familiar? Bit peculiar to associate sweat-tears-blood with something reassuring, but maybe the scent of milk attenuates it?? Everything is confusing.
Actually, where is my dad? I haven’t seen him. Or maybe I have? And I just didn’t notice? Maybe he’s out of the picture?? Or he could be sick and quarantined??? I’m just making shit up right now. How long have I been out of the womb? Like, a few days? Maybe? My sense of time is shit.
And how come I already understand what these people are saying? Not that I'm complaining, but I thought I'd have to learn an entire new language from scratch. Or how to recognize scents, because I’m fairly certain newborns can’t identify the origin of a smell. Can they? It might work for milk, but what about everything else?
…At least things aren’t as confusing as they could have been (even if they kind of are). I could have, y’know, not been able to recognize anything I perceive, which would have sucked because I can’t even rely on eyesight.
…Oooouuugh, I feel heavy. I haven’t been awake for long, have I? Nevermind, I think that’s enough thinking for today. Nap time.
-------------------- POV Change : Taran (3rd Person) --------------------
Taran was utterly exhausted. Staying in the hospital, even for a few days, frustrated her to no end. She grimaced in disgust, realizing how much she longed for her own chambers (it was honestly more of a prison an apartment) in Whole Cake Château. During her pregnancy, the simple thought of anything sweet had her dizzy with nausea. You can imagine how that went when she lived surrounded by cake and candy. Literally. To this day, Taran still wondered how the whole place didn’t attract flies.
Sadly, she would have to wait, until both she and her baby were deemed healthy enough to leave. Speaking of, she hadn’t given her a name yet. It’s not like the young mother didn’t think about one during her pregnancy, she even had a list, but now that this little bundle of life was in her arms, none of them seemed to fit. It would be a disservice if her daughter was not aptly named. Taran would have to think of something different, maybe even make up a new name.
Taran looked upon the red, puffed-up face of her baby. ‘Like a fish...’ She thought. She shook her head; that was stupid, she wouldn’t name her kid after some temporary trait all newborns had. In fact, naming her daughter after her appearance simply felt… plain. Unoriginal, even.
Her behaviour, maybe? Although considerably quiet, from what the nurses told her, her newborn’s crying was… explosive. Without warning. You would pick her up, take a few dozen steps and suddenly get an earful of screaming. No agitation, no whimpering. Taran couldn’t quite understand why such a detail stood out to her. Apart from that, she had been quite well-behaved. Her baby seemed to have ‘favourite’ nurses, with whom she didn’t cry out as much. Taran expected her outbursts to last, whenever she was taken to be examined, but she always ceased within barely a few minutes, even with the ‘non favourite’ nurses. Taran found this a little strange, but she had heard of newborns not crying at all while being perfectly healthy, so she supposed there was little to worry about.
Speaking of worry, Taran had stewed on many questions since she had learned of her pregnancy. Was Taran going to have to take care of her daughter alone? Would the father (she did not get a name for the face, and would rather it stay that way) be allowed to involve himself? Would he be willing? If not, how would she manage this? Food was already provided by Madam Charlotte, so she would not concern herself with it, but what about toys? Clothes? Books? Her little one would outgrow the ones she had already bought, and she was still in search of a job. Would she be able to get a job? Hell, would she be allowed to? Would Taran not get busy, as her baby would grow up? What about school then; there are none on Whole Cake Island, would her daughter be allowed to leave the island for one? Could she afford it? Or would Taran have to homeschool her? Nothing seemed so certain anymore…
Taran took a breath, held it for a moment, and exhaled. One thing at a time. Repeating and stewing on these thoughts would not solve her problems. She would not let these doubts restrain her. She would not get caught in the Kraken’s coils. She would sail through this turbulent future, until the sun hit her skin and warmed her face. No matter how distant, there was a light in this murky future.
…A light, yes, it was possible, it was there. She and her daughter would go wherever they liked, whether a windy winter island, or a humid summer island. She- no, they would be free. And for that, Taran must plan. It would take years; her kid might even be… No, she shook her head again, she was slipping back into her doubts.
…Huh. That is an idea. A good idea for a name. Taran smiled, gazing at the little life in her arms. “You,” she murmured, “shall be named Audra.”