Newborn blues… (WoD)

The child has finally fallen silent.
In the quiet that has descended in the nursery, he waves his chubby hands disconsolately. There was no comforting damp softness about him here, just the dry sterile warmth from the incubator and the scratchiness of the fabric beneath him and about his bottom. He squirms. The light was too bright, the things touching him too indifferent. It was painfully quiet, with no gentle boom of a heartbeat to calm and soothe him. He blinks a few times, eyes green as a cat’s eyes in sunlight, and kicks his feet in disgust.
He was going to have think about things a bit.
The tall people who came in had cuddled him at first, held him with their soft hands and cooed over him, and the touch and sounds had helped. But there was still something missing and he had voiced his disquiet in the only way infants can.
Apparently this had not worked. One by one his nurses had fled, and he was unnerved by his loneliness, his discomfort making his wails louder and more piercing.
No one came.
Gradually, he had ceased his squalling. Snuffling sadly he scrubs one little fist over his puffy cheeks and grunts in annoyance. The tall ones were no help. He was going to have to manage on his own. Yawning, he gives himself over to exhaustion, lets fragile lids drop over the vividness of his eyes.
In the silence of the nursery he sleeps, little hands splayed like tiny starfish. It had been a tiring first day.