There was a new blanket folded on the shelf, small enough for someone very small. A baby is coming to Pip’s burrow.
Pip: “Everyone keeps talking about the baby. Nobody talks about me.”
Bramble padded in and said softly,
Bramble: “That sounds like a heavy feeling to carry. You can say it out loud in this burrow, and nothing bad will happen.”
Bramble and Pip walked the mossy path in the morning cool. Hazel was waiting with a tiny knitted hat.
Hazel: “Hello Pip! A new baby in the house is noisy at night and asleep all day. It is strange for a while.”
Pip: “Does the strange bit stop?”
Hazel: “It does. It just takes longer than a week.”
Under the wide oak, Old Oakley listened carefully before speaking.
Old Oakley: “A baby needs a great deal of holding at first, so the grown-ups will have busy arms. That is about the baby being new, not about you being less.”
Pip: “So the love gets shared out thinner?”
Old Oakley: “No, little one. Love is not a pie. Your family loves both of you, all the way. When your arms feel empty, say, “I need a cuddle,” and ask.”
The baby was smaller than Pip expected, curled in a low wooden cradle like a warm bread roll.
Pip: “Hello. I’m Pip. I live here too.”
The baby squeaked once and gripped Pip’s paw with one tiny paw, and would not let go for a whole minute.
Pip: “I think that means hello.”
That evening the burrow was quiet, the cradle rocking slowly by the fire.
Pip: “Some of today was lovely, and some of it was strange.”
Bramble: “Both are allowed,” said Bramble. “Tell your family the strange parts too. That’s what families are for.”
Pip had a long cuddle and fell asleep to the small sound of someone breathing nearby.