Baileigh Solis

Irina has an ear infection.

Babies (SHUT UP I CAN STILL CALL HER A BABY EVEN THOUGH SHE'S A YEAR OLD NOW) with ear infections scream. Loudly. LOUDLY.

I think I've forgotten what sleep is.

And I'm running out of soothing songs to sing.

Naked baby pictures are a must, after all. How else will I embarrass her in front of her first prom date? 

Your New Name Should Be Baileigh Nicole

Nicole means "victory of the people"! Consider scoring this new name a personal victory!

It's taken, but thanks anyway, meme!

Intellectually, she knew that Irina was no more aware of the soft lights and twinkling ornaments beside them than she was of anything that wasn't her bottle and maybe their faces, but that didn't keep her from rocking her to sleep next to it every night, hoping to imprint some sliver of memory of her very first Christmas into her developing mind.

She's a week old now.

“The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.” --Rajneesh


It didn't seem right, to have been confined to a bed for eighteen hours and yet feel as though she'd not only run a marathon but met a troop of UFC champs at the finish line who'd knocked her down proceeded to beat her with sticks. She'd sustained a lot of injuries since she'd been called as a Slayer, and thought she knew what pain was and what her limits concerning it were. After hours of hard labor without a drop of pain medication, she discovered she'd grossly underestimated what she was capable of getting through.

It hadn't been easy. She'd yelled. She'd cried as Julian combed his fingers through her hair or dabbed the sweat from her face and neck or rubbed her back, anything to try and soothe her. She'd sworn rapidly in Spanish, used every filthy and angry curse she knew and invented a few creative and colorful phrasings of her own--probably not fit behavior for a new mother, but she'd worry about censorship once she got through the labor. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd clutched Claire's hand hard enough to fracture the bones, despite the conscious effort she made to keep her strength in check. She'd been at the point where she didn't think she could do it anymore, that she didn't have it in her to ride through another contraction, before the pushing had even started. She must have even said it out loud, because everyone around her had begun the mantra of you can do this, Bee, you can do this. They didn't add that she really didn't have much choice, kindly, but she was more than aware of that fact all the same.

For months she'd counted every little kick and stretch and shift and movement of the little person growing in her belly. They'd listened to her heartbeat at every appointment, talked to her, named her, read her fairy tales and nursery rhymes, played Mozart and Beethoven for her. She'd thought they were already completely in love with her, but she realized how wrong she'd been when she heard the first beautiful, gasping cry of her daughter in a suddenly still and small room. It was terrifying, and joyful, and just like that, all of her uncertainty was gone. They took her away, and all Baileigh could think was No, she's crying, what are you doing, you can't take her away, you have to give her to me.

It was a little startling, the way the pieces fell into place, when they finally got her cleaned up, weighed, measured and thoroughly checked, and Cain carried the swaddled and now somewhat calmed newborn and settled her into Baileigh's arms. She was so small, she could barely feel the weight of her at all, but one look into those tiny, watery eyes, eyes the very distinctive shade of deep blue that belonged only to babies and kittens, and she thought Oh, well...of course, it all makes sense now. And if the world had shifted before, it was nothing compared to the way it moved now. The world didn't just revolve around little Irina Lazarey, the entire universe did, and woe betide anyone that tried to say differently.