Shelagh surprises Patrick. Again, artwork by GreetingsDr. And you can tell Shelagh’s still a newlywed. She’s going to tell Patrick “how right he had been.”
Amatuer.
Artwork by GreetingsDr, as seen on her Tumblr blog.
Humming to herself, Shelagh let herself in the front door. She couldn’t wait to tell Patrick how right he had been.
“Go, Shelagh. You should go. You haven’t been away from the baby since she came home. You’re always happy when you’ve had a chance to sing,” Patrick had told her.
“I sing all day, don’t I, Angela? We sing together.” She nuzzled the baby’s neck. “Patrick, it’s too soon. The choir can manage just fine without me for a Christmas concert. Maybe in the spring,” she concluded.
“Shelagh, it’s only an hour or two. I’ll be here with the baby, there’s nothing for you to worry about. I am a doctor, you know. They do teach us a few things about baby care in medical school.”
“Patrick…” Shelagh was unconvinced.
“Shelagh. No one will think you aren’t completely besotted with her if you step out of the house for a choir practice without her. Especially if you leave her with her father, a respected medical man of the community. You know you miss the choir. You said so last week.” Grinning, he knew he would convince her. “I’ll even give Angela her bath while you’re gone.”
The crease in Shelagh’s forehead appeared, and immediately, he knew he had made a wrong move.
“Oh, no, Patrick, that won’t be necessary. I’ve already given the baby her bath today. I wouldn’t want to dry out her skin. Or get her off her schedule. Patrick, dear, if I am going to do this, you’ll have to promise to stick to my instructions.”
“Yes, dear.”
Practice had been lovely. The choir chose “O, Holy Night,” one of Shelagh’s favorites, and all had insisted that she sing a verse solo, as a way of enticing her to stay within the fold. “I’m becoming a very vain person,” she scolded herself half-heartedly.
Entering the house quietly, (as she was always reminding Patrick and Timothy to do, so as not to wake the baby) Shelagh could hear noises coming from the kitchen. Curious, she tiptoed in to get a better look. There Patrick stood, splashing a laughing baby in her tub up in the kitchen sink. His fine tenor voice sang:
When Father hung the paper in the hall
He hung the parlour paper on the wall
he papered all the stairs
He papered all the chairs
He even hung the border on the wall
When the ladder slipped and he began to fall
He split a bucket of paste upon us all
And like birds of a feather
We all stuck together
When Father hung the paper in the hall!”
As the silly song ended, he laughed at baby Angela. “See, Mummy’s not the only one who can sing in this house. Your old dad’s not so bad, is he?” He tickled her tummy and the baby let out a happy screech. “Yes, you like your tubby time, don’t you?”
Shelagh watched as Patrick used a small pot to pour water over the back of the baby’s head. Her heart was bursting with love for this man. He had given her so much: his love, this family, her happy life. She could never show him enough how happy he made her.
She slipped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“So this is what you get up to when I’m out! A second bath?” she teased, laughing up at him.
Surprised, he turned to look down at her. “Shelagh! How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to hear what happens when Father does the decorating!” she chuckled.
Patrick blushed. “I can never remember the words to lullabies nor nursery rhymes. That one just came to my head. Don’t tease, love.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help it. And this little girl certainly seems to be enjoying herself!”
Patrick handed Angela her rattle. “When I could get home in the evenings, I used to give Tim baths in the kitchen sink when he was a baby, too. It was our special time, just the two of us. Margaret would always find something else to do and the two of us would make a mess.” He shifted and placed an arm around Shelagh.
She reached up to kiss him, happy and content.
Wanting to be the center of attention again, Angela laughed and kicked at the water, sending a splash over the tub and drenching her father.
Shelagh laughed. “Next time, Patrick, you should wear my apron. Yellow is a lovely color on you!”
My Little Yellowbird 