Deb Kastner - Yuletide Baby

“I’ll take care of her.”

* * *

Shawn taking baby Noelle overnight sounded like a reasonable enough plan, at least until four o’clock in the morning came and went and he hadn’t gotten a single moment of sleep. The small gathering of neighbors had loaded him up with suggestions on baby care, wished him well and then gone home to catch a few hours of shut-eye before Christmas morning dawned, where they would celebrate with their own families.

Shawn had mistakenly thought he had everything under control. How hard could it be, really?

Ha! The joke was on him. The Lord certainly had a sense of humor.

He groaned and smothered a yawn. Instead of enjoying a happy snooze with sugarplums dancing in his head as he would have done if he’d gone home alone, he was pacing the hallway with an unappeasably fussy baby.

Holding her close to his heart, he gently patted her back in a slow, steady rhythm. The little bundle of joy wasn’t the least bit happy, and he hadn’t a clue what to do for her. He wished he knew what was wrong so he could fix the problem.

After a bottle of formula and a diaper change, Noelle had initially drifted off to sleep. Shawn had thrown together a makeshift bassinet from a shallow plastic bin and some blankets and placed it by the side of his own bed. All was calm—and bright.

For about five seconds.

No sooner had he laid his head on the pillow than Noelle started to wail. And wow, but the kid had a pair of lungs.

He shuffled through his mental list. Diaper changed. Warm bottle. Patting her back to help her remove any lingering bubbles in her tummy. Swaddled. Multiple attempts at a pacifier, although he’d qualified that as a fail, since he couldn’t even get the baby girl to keep it in her mouth.

Nothing seemed to work. If anything, the more attention he paid to Noelle, the harder she cried, and now she was making little hic sounds when she breathed. He was afraid she was hyperventilating.

Could babies hyperventilate? It frightened him that he didn’t even know the answer to that question.

What if she passed out? What if something was seriously the matter with her? Had Dr. Delia missed something critical when she’d examined the baby?

Noelle scrunched up her tiny face and sneezed. Shawn reached for his cell phone, then stopped and shook his head, laughing at how easily flustered he was getting.

Who was he going to call? Emergency services? And say what?

Hello, can you help me? My baby just sneezed!

“I’m overreacting, aren’t I, little darlin’?” he murmured to Noelle. Her face relaxed, and she quieted, appearing to respond to the sound of his voice. Well, that was good, right? He kept talking. “Let me tell you, sweetheart, I have a brand-new appreciation for the parents of infants. Is this what Eli and Mary are going through every night right now? Huh? You think?”

Noelle sneezed again.

“Uh-oh. I hope you’re not getting sick. Dr. Delia was pretty thorough when she was examining you, and she pronounced you good to go, at least for the time being. But I suppose there’s always the possibility that she missed something. Are you coming down with a cold, little darlin’? Or am I just being a worrywart?”

He chuckled softly when he realized Noelle had stopped crying. When he gazed down at her, he realized she was looking at him expectantly, sucking contentedly on her tiny fist.

“So that was all you needed? A little man-to-baby conversation? Well, I don’t mind talking to you, sweetheart, but wouldn’t it be great if we could table this discussion for now and pick it up in the morning?” From the expectant look on her face, it seemed the answer to that question was no.

Well, if all he had to do was talk, he supposed he could handle that. He was a preacher, after all. Words were his livelihood.

Just not in the middle of the night.

He took a seat on his plush easy chair and kicked back the footrest so he could settle Noelle on his shoulder. He’d heard young parents joking about how their babies had their days and nights mixed up, but he’d never quite understood what that meant.

Now he got it, and got it good.

If nothing else, taking care of Noelle over the Christmas holiday would be a tremendous learning experience for him. After what he’d experienced tonight, he had all kinds of ideas on how to be a better pastor to the parents of newborns in his congregation. Up until this point he realized he’d kind of missed the mark. For one thing, he’d be more sympathetic, and he’d be sure to look for ways to make the transition into parenthood easier. He’d never envisioned the type of sacrifice parents made on a daily—and nightly—basis, and he imagined a strong support system would make all the difference in the world for them.

Noelle gurgled, and Shawn rubbed his fingertips against her tiny back. “What are you here to teach me?” he murmured, offering his heart to God and to the child. “I’m your student now. You’ve got me in the palm of your sweet little hand. So why don’t you tell me, young lady—what am I here to learn?”

* * *

In a more innocent time of her life, Heather’s favorite time of the year had been Christmas. Peace on earth, goodwill to all. She recalled participating in joyful caroling parties with hot apple cider and eggnog afterward. Joining in the throng of busy shoppers as they scurried around trying to catch seasonal deals for their loved ones. The anticipation as she wrapped presents and created pretty, elaborate homemade bows to tie around them. And most of all, she remembered the joy of celebrating God made Man in the person of Jesus. The nativity.

All of that had been part of her best childhood memories.

But her parents had passed on, and all the goodness associated with the season had gone by the wayside during her years with Adrian. Oh, they’d attended their fair share of Christmas parties, but Adrian was in the habit of secretly imbibing on the side. Then afterward, he’d cross town to where no one knew him and hit the bars until he was stumbling drunk.

He despised Christmas, and he’d mocked her attempts to give their house a personal touch for the season. He’d insisted on professional decorators and expensive ornaments, and eventually she’d just stopped trying. She hadn’t even bothered to give any input—it wasn’t like anyone listened to her wishes, anyway. It was just more work for her to do and there was no one but her to enjoy it. There wasn’t much joy in her life to celebrate. Adrian would complain about the twinkling lights and the space it took up and failed to appreciate the tree and Christmas decor for what they represented.

Church services became exercises in deception. So many people loved and respected Adrian, an active leader and deacon in the church. To members of the congregation, she strived to appear to be the happy, faithful wife of a charming man, with a seemingly perfect marriage and not a care in the world.

What a lie. A whole pack of them, as a matter of fact.

Well, no more.

But even though she no longer carried the weight of the lies on her shoulders, the damage they had done to her still remained. Some days it was all she could do to rise out of bed and go about her daily activities. Her foster children—nine-year-old Jacob, seven-year-old Missy and three-year-old Henry—gave her the strength to face life again. Their precious hugs and sweet laughter made even the worst of days bearable.

This year she’d purchased a freshly cut Virginia pine tree from a tree farm. No artificial trees in her house. If she was being honest, it was as much for her as for the children. It filled her heart with great joy to see the children’s excitement as they spotted the perfect tree and hauled it inside. Little hands helped as much as the big ones did.