𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝐵𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑛𝑒𝑤𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛?
It’s simple: Alfred Pennyworth. That man is a blessing in many ways compacted into one. Having a skill set of many talents including (but not limited to) acting, MI-5 secret service training, training as a soldier— until eventually taking on the role as butler for the Wayne’s after his own father passed away— he somehow knows exactly how to be a caretaker.
The first few weeks of caring for Charlotte rested solely on Alfred’s shoulders. Not because Bruce didn’t want to care for his daughter, but because she was so small and fragile, and he just didn’t know how to handle that. Bruce could easily disarm bombs under pressure, solve riddles while innocent lives were at stake, function with less than an hour of sleep, and not to mention that he’s capable of leading a team of superheroes to fight extraterrestrial threats. But the concept of caring for a two/three month old who doesn’t yet have the capability of holding up her own head? Bruce preferred to leave it to Alfred.
And Alfred disapproved of that decision.
So Alfred did what Alfred does, and he nagged, and nagged, and nagged. He carried Charlotte into the batcave where Bruce tucked himself away, imploring Bruce that this stage of development is critical for him to bond with his daughter. And Bruce resisted at first— he tried to firmly establish that the batcave isn’t safe for a child (to which Alfred dryly countered the presence of Dick Grayson, who had been zipping around the batcave since he was eight years old). And what harm, exactly, could an infant as small as Charlotte cause to the sterile, gloomy environment? It’s unlikely she’d touch anything dangerous considering she’s very much stationary at this stage.
Either way, Bruce eventually gave in. Alfred was duly satisfied with this result, expressing the notion that Batman is more than capable of multitasking bottle-feeding his infant daughter while solving Gothams crimes at the console. And Bruce hated that Alfred was right.
The first few bottle feeds were… awkward. Alfred corrected Bruce on how to hold Charlotte, how to position her head and how to ensure she was being burped correctly after each feeding. And Alfred insisted that Bruce should speak to Charlotte during these moments— how else is she supposed to recognise his voice if he doesn’t converse with her? Bruce thought the idea was bizarre, because what could he possibly talk to her about?
“Anything at all, sir,” Alfred said with an inclined nod of his head. “The context of conversation doesn’t matter so much as tone of voice. Let her hear you and associate you with safety. Perhaps you could narrate your workings out loud?”
And that’s exactly what Bruce did. It was horrifically strained and awkward at first, listening to his own voice echo back in the expansive darkness of the cave. He muttered to himself about inconsistencies in evidence and information, he muttered about crime scene footage frame by frame, he narrated exactly what he was doing and why he was doing it. It felt futile and silly, but after the tenth time of doing so, it slowly seeped in as a habit.
To Bruce’s surprise, it was working. He picked up cues of hunger and discomfort faster than humanly possible, and his time spent with Charlotte was far more enjoyable than he initially expected it to ever be. Though, he realised fast, that Charlotte was not easily transferable into a cot or bassinet once she falls asleep, and that made his workings… difficult.
“She’s got you nap-trapped,” Dick helpfully pointed out one afternoon, one leg hooked over the arm rest of the console chair, the other folded beneath him. He grinned boyishly at Bruce while watching him attempt, and fail, several times over to place Charlotte into the bassinet located next to the batcomputer. “Alfred was muttering this morning that she’s a clingy baby.”
Nap-trapped indeed. Bruce didn’t necessarily hate that Charlotte would wail and cry at the loss of warmth when being placed down, but he did hate that no matter how deeply asleep she was on him that it didn’t seem to matter once her back touched the cotton mattress. The bats hanging from the ceiling disliked the shrill noises too— they would flap and flutter and scatter the moment her little face began turning red and scrunching up.
Bruce does supply normalcy for Charlotte away from the cave. Believe it or not, he doesn’t spend every waking minute down in the batcave— though Alfred suspects he absolutely would if not for his duties as Bruce Wayne. And Bruce discovers quickly that Charlotte (like most babies, Alfred helpfully pointed out), enjoy and thrive better when exposed to nature. Simply being carried around the gardens during Gothams nicer weather, or resting and staring up at the sky inside a pushchair presented calmer results than when cooped up in the batcave. Who knew fresh air and nature could yield such a response?
But Bruce would never have reached the point of properly bonding with Charlotte if not for Alfred’s guidance and support. Truthfully, even when Dick first arrived at the manor, Bruce hadn’t known what to do with him either— it was Alfred who insisted on structured routine for Dick, and it was Alfred who ensured Dick was being nurtured the way a child should be. Bruce provided the outlet Dick needed in the aftermath that followed his parent’s deaths, and Alfred provided the nurture that a young boy needed. A happy balance. And now with the added addition of Charlotte to the dysfunctional-functional family, it was a reminder that Alfred truly is the caretaker that held the manor together like glue.
Even though Charlotte had been an unexpected addition to the Wayne family, Bruce started to accept the fact that he’s glad she’s there with them. With everyday that passes, Bruce gets to see more and more of her growing into being her own little person. He gets to see new little, black curls grow from her soft head; he gets to see how bright her blue eyes shine as she starts to recognise faces, how her long lashes frame those very same eyes and brush against her rosy cheeks when she sleeps. Bruce gets to sit in silence as her small fingers wrap around his large ones, how she will blindly grasp at his shirt when feeding and not let go under any circumstances.
Bruce Wayne copes well with a newborn.
But he would never have gotten to that stage without Alfred’s support.
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