Alicia did her best to smile, and she swiped her hand over her forehead. Part of her wished she had a few mintues to throw on some make-up, but part of her just didn’t give a shit. She just spent sixteen hours in unmedicated labour. She has twenty-eight stitches in places she doesn’t want to think about because her seven pound bundle of joy has the biggest head she’s ever seen on a newborn.
Frankly after all that, she’s allowed to look a little bit like a bed-goblin.
Her hair’s in a plait, with strands all over the place, and she hasn’t showered since the day before she pushed this boy out of her body, and she thinks she smells like a mixture of milk and whatever spray they used to sanitise the rooms.
With a sigh, Alicia glanced over at her husband’s teammates, who are like family. The boys and their wives–a couple girlfriends here and there. They were cooing over Jack, “Not Jacques, eh?” and fiddling with the light green baby toque pulled over his thatch of black hair.