Three of us now make up the family permanently occupying House Bar-en-Acharn: Seregrian my lovely Immortal bride, me Her Mortal fool of a husband, and Bainniel, our precious newborn daughter. The babe favors her mother greatly and I pray she will not grow into features of my own that, although distinctive, bear little resemblance to anything beautiful - time will tell.
As Caladna had advised Her, much of what a mother needs to be comes by instinct, and in that, as in all things, my wife shines. Our days together, with frequent visits by others who make up the House company, are molded into a happy routine, with Her devoted to the baby and me devoted to them both. Fortunately, the House has been keeping the larder well stocked, and our company's hobbits keep my wife and I fed. I have not had to make very many meals in the last two weeks, and frankly am blessed to be able to say so. I am not so much of a Mortal fool as to prefer my own cooking, as complemented as it has been, to that of our beloved hobbits.
Each day proceeds very much like the last, with mother and child awakening together in the early hours and bonding with breast feeding, each of them locked into the gaze of the other, the babe eagerly taking from Mira Mamil, whose glowing smile is reflected in wide and tiny eyes. I must tear myself away from the moment to gather a morning meal for Her, usually a piece of Royzenberry's pie and some cheese, and lately She has been favoring red tea, although I expect she will soon return to Her usual potent coffee. After the baby has fed I will often take her to burp, and have a turn bonding with her as she rests her head against my shoulder. I take the morning tour around the bedchamber, patting her gently on the back and humming with Her Ladyship as She dresses. She will then take the baby while I dress and we discuss what little adventures we three might have that day.
Others in the House have learned our routine, and this is when we might have a happy visitor or two, play another round of what She calls 'Pass the Baby', and those bright tiny eyes shine as new voices and faces regale her with stories or songs, and the gentle sway of a dance as some one plays a lute or a harp. If the morning is bright and warm, this all occurs on the lovely manor grounds.
By mid-morning, mother and child once again breast feed and bond as only they can, and if My Lady needs another nosh, I explore the larder for another treasure left by the House company. This I will serve Her after Bainniel is down for a nap, and She has the first moments of the day to Herself. More often that not, She writes, but not often in Her Sanctum high above the bedchamber. Instread She sits cross legged on the bed, one hand occasionally gently swaying a cradle as She proof reads.
This pattern cycles blissfully through the day, meals being larger or smaller as Her appetite dictates, and as varied as Her tastes would wish. Visitors come and go, and the attention is usually focused on the baby, as is only right. Nap times are when we putter around the manor, tending to little chores while we anxiously await the sounds of stirring from the cradle. In the early evening, we bathe Banniel and prepare her for bed, where she and She bond again, babe to breast. I never tire of the wonder of those intimate moments between them.
The days drift along with this routine, and it is a comfort to me, another way for my bride and I to renew our vows, more than to each other, now to us three as a family.
