A baby, when hungry, will cry. A new mom, upon hearing this cry, will try to rectify the solution. Usually this involves waking up, contending with an IV, struggling with the snaps on some unfamiliar hospital gown, staring at the thing that just fell out of her gown, wondering whose it is because it looks so terribly unfamiliar, and then . . . cramming the baby's head into what is suspected to be a breast and hope all goes well so mom can go back to sleep. They tell you that both mom and baby need to learn to nurse. What they don't tell you is what to do when it's not working, and for us it was not working.

I'm told Holly fed Emma all throughout the first night, and I vaguely recall waking up to the wailing cries of a hungry baby. Saturday came and Holly is still dutifully offering food to the crying baby, and as far as we know it's working. Holly sends me home Saturday night after a two hour crying feed-fest of frustration and tears. Emma would not calm down and we did not know what to do. We did manage to get Emma calmed enough to be wheeled out to the nursery and I quietly left, feeling like my tail was between my legs and I was abandoning my family.

I'm not sure how well we slept that night. Holly was woken up to feed Emma every couple of hours, and I tossed and turned in an empty bed, something I've had only once in our six years of marriage, and we didn't have cats then. The poor cats were trying to figure out why I came back without Holly and brought them blankets that smelled different; little did they know I was introducing them to Emma, their new houseguest. When I rejoined my family the next morning I was greeted to the site of the lactation nurse giving Holly some encouragement, and I was promptly informed that Emma was doing more chewing than sucking!

If our baby is any indication of normal (and I won't claim she is) babies can suck hard. But you'd think that without teeth a bite wouldn't be all that bad. Even though Emma was gumming whatever we put in her mouth it was a hard bite and with enough repetition even my finger was getting sore. I felt sorry for Holly.

Sunday was our last day in the hospital because the corporate bean counters at HMO Central in all their magnanimous glory cut you off after 48 hours. There is nothing more unsettling than sending home two parents with their first baby, and they haven't figured out how to make feeding work. Despite the efforts of the lactation nurse Holly was not able to get Emma enough food, and Emma would let us know about that.

Emma enjoyed her car ride home, and the cats greeted her with the aloofness only a cat can display. They were actually quite happy with Emma, as she brought them toys in the form of ribbons tied to balloons (don't tell the cats, but Emma didn't do that). Emma slept while three of the four grandparents ate pizza with us (Grandpa Murray had to head for home that morning). This turned out to be a mistake; Holly should have been sleeping when Emma was sleeping. When the night shift started everything went to you-know-where in a hand-basket.

Holly tried feeding Emma, but nothing worked well. Emma's tummy was not full and she was not happy about it. Holly was functioning on a scant few hours of sleep in a 48 hour period, and Emma's wailing was tearing at our heartstrings. Anger was the first emotion that struck me, anger at our HMO for kicking us out of the hospital before we were ready. We didn't know what to do with Emma, and had no clue how to calm her down. Then I was filled with concern as I watched a hysterical Holly sob and wail; her face told me she felt she was hurting our poor little child. In a desperate move Holly scrabbled around in the diaper bag and then lunged at the baby's head. For the briefest of moments I was afraid, then I realized she had done what all the nurses said not to do for the first month: Holly gave Emma a pacifier. It worked.

The official line is a pacifier makes nursing harder. I think the reasoning has something to do with making a distinction between flesh and silicone and sucking and feeding. I really don't know, and I don't think they do either. From what I gather from my mother I was a suckler, and needed a pacifier to calm me down; I guess Emma gets that from me. Later Holly and I talked it over and decided that the nursing wasn't going well anyway, so the risks involved were minimal. Besides, it worked.

It was not until Tuesday that Holly and Emma figured out how to nurse. The hospital offers a free lactation class (I call it the baby play group . . . babies get all the fun) and Holly and her mother took Emma and they gave Holly some tips that solved all our problems. It turns out Emma's tummy wasn't getting filled, and we were encouraged to supplement with formula until Holly could provide enough milk on her own.

In the end the pacifier was not a bad thing, but a necessary thing, and nursing would have been easy had we been given more time with lactation consultants over more feedings so Holly and Emma could have established better habits. This feeding thing has, so far, been the largest hurdle we've had to get over with Emma. She doesn't have colic, she sleeps well (even through my noisy video games and loud movies), loves being held by her daddy, which is good considering it's about the only thing I can do, and only fusses when she's getting a diaper changed or we are slow at feeding her royal person.