Hideaway Strath ceathairéad

Like his siblings before him, Ceallach had felt nothing before he had come to be. It was a mystery, some sort of age-old beautiful thing that had swept him up and plucked him from whatever dust the universe had stolen to make him. He had felt it, a change in his only known world, and he had fought against it with feeble little feet as he struggled and kicked against the world. Why was it changing? What was all this? The thoughts would vanish as soon as they came and Ceallach would forget and he would settle with each fading contraction. Things were different, he noticed, with more space but then he forgot that too - all of his known world seemed different, for a bit, than it had been before. 

He hadn't meant to be so late to the party, the only child who had attempted to hold out and not show up early. Now though, that he was out, he was cold and he was screaming - making up for the moments of peace his mother had been feeling, stealing all that euphoria and those nursing-induced responses. Soon though he was nestled against what was familiar, little figures near his to touch and kick at as they had been the last couple months. Something was different though, his purpose was greater and he was inspired to move by a new sensation. Blindly he bobbed his head and shuffled his feet until he touched on a thing. His mother. 

He didn't know her tender concerns or the way she preened over him or the fact he looked like his father. All he knew was that she was familiar in some strange way and it was a comfort and when he finally rooted and found a nipple it was a satisfaction he'd never known before. Milk was sweet, and this too was new and it was good, and before he filled his stomach and had fallen asleep still latched those thoughts were gone too, hazy like some dream. Maybe life wouldn't be so bad.