Deja Vu

by Michal Hartstein

  I minimized my meetings with Daria and Inbal at that time. The fact that Inbal was jealous of my baby didn’t make me as happy as it did during the pregnancy. I envied her even more now, because she was free as a bird. Daria's pregnancy was very photogenic. I didn’t see it with my own eyes, but Daria made sure to update us with pictures of her growing stomach with repugnant insensitivity given the difficulties Inbal was going through. Daria and Asi’s baby, Roy, was born a month before I returned to work. Daria was hoping that I'd extend my maternity leave so that we could spend mom time together, but I was impatient to return to work, mainly to get some time off the overwhelming routine of motherhood.

  Upon my return to work, everyone wanted to see pictures of little Nofar. My out-of-the-ordinary motherhood hit me again; I hardly had any pictures of her. I didn’t feel the need to cherish every moment of her life like other mothers who often filmed their offspring. They looked on, astonished at the meager handful of photos I managed to find on my cell phone.

  “This is it?” they asked me more than once in surprise.

  “I have more on the camera at home,” I lied. A few days later, I snapped Nofar in a variety of flattering and cute poses and I framed the cutest picture of them all and put it on my desk. I didn’t want to seem abnormal. But this photo, to me, was just photographic proof of my failure as a mother. This was actually an image that Amir took, because when I photographed Nofar, she wouldn’t smile as she did with Amir. Every time I looked at the picture, I felt more and more certain of my decision: If I was a failure as a mother, at least I would become a successful career woman. If I didn’t know how to give my child the love and care she needed, she would get it with all the money I earned.

  On Independence Day of that year, we met up at Daria and Asi’s place to watch the fireworks show from their terrace. Asi, who’d joined his father’s clothing import business a few years earlier, had doubled and even tripled the business’ profits, which allowed them to move to a spectacular penthouse in northern Tel Aviv. Daria was ecstatic. She’d quickly regained her original pre-pregnancy figure and boasted of the standard of living she had, which we could only dream of at this stage of our lives. Nofar crawled around Roy, who sat on the bouncer watching my toddler eyeing all of the toys scattered around him.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Daria apologized, and I looked around and tried to figure out what mess she was referring to. Apart from a small number of toys, her house was spotless and tidy. I couldn’t remember our apartment being this neat since Nofar was born.

  “You’re kidding me!” I said in disbelief. She looked at me as if she didn’t understand what I meant. “What mess are you talking about?”

  “This…” She pointed at a few toys scattered in the living room. Nofar had just picked up a spongy ball and put it in her mouth. Daria grimaced.

  “She’s putting everything in her mouth at the moment,” I apologized and pulled the ball out of her mouth. She burst into tears and only stopped wailing when Amir took her up in his arms.

  “Roy’s still very small,” she explained. “I don’t know if it's okay for him to come into contact with other children's saliva.”

  “He’ll have to get used to it at some point,” I smiled. “Soon he’ll be going to kindergarten.”

  “Why soon?” Daria wondered. “Nofar’s going to kindergarten?”

  “Not exactly kindergarten. It’s a children’s daycare, but there are four other children there. In September, she’ll start kindergarten, though.”

  “Roy won’t go to daycare until he’s two.”

  “You're going to stay home with him?” I asked. If I was climbing the walls, I couldn’t imagine how Daria would deal with watching her baby for two years.

  “Of course not,” she laughed. “He’s with his nanny.”

  “He has a nanny already?” I tried to understand why Daria used the present tense.

  “Of course. We’ve had a nanny since he was a month old.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I don’t need to tell you what raising a baby’s like,” she winked. “I also hired someone who gives me childcare advice and helps me with the laundry and cooking.”

  “You cook?” Daria couldn’t make an omelet.

  “No. But I think it’s important to have a cooked meal, especially when there’s a baby at home.”

  “He eats food already?”

  “Step by step.”

  Now the exemplary order and cleanliness were clear. Daria, who hadn’t yet returned to work at her cosmetics company, had a fleet of employees: a nanny who also washed and cooked, a cleaning lady, a young beautician who took care of her company while she was on maternity leave, and even a teenager who would walk her poodle every day at noon.

  Inbal and David arrived slightly late because David had to finish his shift at the fire station where he worked. As soon as Inbal came in, I knew she was pregnant. She was radiant. Inbal was never a skinny girl, so it still wasn’t possible to discern any bulge in her stomach, but her whole being exuded the happiness that enveloped her. She walked into the new apartment, admired the designer features and impressive views, hugged and kissed us all, and finally leaned over and hugged Roy and Nofar warmly. On previous occasions when she’d met Nofar, she’d always picked her up and played with her, but hadn’t tried to hide her jealousy and the sorrow in her eyes. Today, her gaze was full of tenderness and joy.

  The fireworks began and we looked up at the crackling sky. Amir was holding Nofar, who pointed at in amazement at the colorful flashes of light. Roy began to cry hysterically, and Daria took him inside. I looked at David and Inbal. They stood and watched the sky intently. David's muscular arm was resting on Inbal’s shoulder. They looked so calm and relaxed. My old jealousy returned and overwhelmed me. David was a man's man, a charming firefighter who protected his loving wife with his body. I looked back at Amir. He was a tall, handsome man, but his stomach had begun to expand and his hair was thinning. As a computer engineer in a software company, he didn’t move his body as much as David did, and as the years passed, he looked older than David. Amir wasn’t a romantic and protective man like David, and I loved him because of his practical nature, but, like many women, in my heart I longed for a charming man who would sweep me up in ecstasy. A few minutes later, the fireworks ended and we settled down around the dinner table on the terrace to eat the steaks Asi had cooked.

  “Excellent,” Inbal said with pleasure.

  “Thank you,” Asi smiled. Daria didn’t compliment him often. She didn’t touch the steak he’d prepared for her. Until she lost the extra couple of pounds from her pregnancy, she had no intention of risking any additional weight gain.

  “Enjoy,” Daria smiled at Inbal with a starving look.

  “I am enjoying myself!” Inbal said through a mouthful of steak, with a secretive, self-assured look.

  “You’re looking good,” Daria looked at Inbal carefully and suddenly noticed the halo surrounding her.

  “Thank you,” she smiled and poured herself a glass of juice.

  “Did you do something with your hair?” Daria frowned. “Are you wearing makeup? There's something different about you.”

  “Nope,” she shrugged.

  Asi returned from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and started to pour everyone a glass. When he reached Inbal, she signaled with her hand that she didn’t want any, and she raised her glass of juice. “I'll settle for juice for now,” she said.

  “You're pregnant?” Daria blurted out tactlessly.

  Inbal took a deep breath, took a sip from her glass of juice and put it back on the table. We all looked at her, and she whispered with a delighted smile, “Yes!”

  “Wow! Inbali!” Daria jumped up and hugged Inbal. “That’s great. Get up so we can see you better.” I was surprised to see Daria demonstrate such happiness. I watched her closely and discovered, to my amazement, that she was genuinely happy for Inbal. Daria was genuinely happy for her, or maybe happy to finally have a friend to
share motherhood with, since I hadn’t really cooperated with her.

  Inbal stood up and patted her stomach. “I’m not showing yet,” she apologized. “Early days…”

  “What week?” I inquired.

  “Tenth,” she smiled at me. I put down the wine glass I was holding and went to her. We hugged in a long and affectionate embrace. Despite my envy, I was still really glad for her. She’d waited a long time for this.

  “I'm so happy for you,” I said quietly as we pulled apart from one another.

  “I know,” she whispered back, and my heart ached. She had such faith in me. It didn’t even occur to her that I envied her.

  We clinked five glasses of wine and a glass of juice in honor of Israel’s sixty years of independence and Inbal’s auspicious pregnancy. She tried to calm our joy, saying she’d already had three miscarriages, but this time all indications showed that the pregnancy was going to end with a baby.

  I had trouble sleeping that night. Nofar, for once, fell asleep easily and slept soundly. Amir was snoring lightly next to me, but my thoughts wouldn’t let me sleep. I felt stuck. I’d always felt like the strongest of our trio. I was the best student. I wasn’t drop dead gorgeous like Daria, but I was very pretty and, in addition, I had a fascinating life story because of the accident and the amnesia. Inbal and Daria also had their own strengths, but, all in all, my advantages were stronger. I’d always gone around with the feeling that I’d achieve much in life, but suddenly I felt left behind. Daria was beautiful and rich and Inbal was in love and radiant from her pregnancy, while I was a desperate mother with a sinking career.

  I wanted to be the strong one in our trio again, and after hours of thought and reflection, I realized that the way to restore my confidence and joy in life was to succeed where I thought I had the edge. I was determined to further my career. I believed that if I succeeded as an accountant, my frustrating envy of my friends would fade away. Every time I felt that jealousy burning inside of me, I was disgusted with myself. Jealousy was pushing me away from my friends, to the extent that I refrained from meeting and talking to them, because I didn’t want to feel it. I didn’t want the others to recognize it. The only one who knew about it was Amir, who also tried to minimize its effect in my life. I hoped that if I succeeded professionally, if others had reason to envy me, I could destroy my tormenting jealousy.

  CHAPTER 5

  After Independence Day and Inbal’s announcement, I started an intensive search for a new job. I went to numerous interviews and screening tests, and in some cases I reached an advanced stage of the interview process, but I never got an offer. I blamed the fact that I was a mother on my failure to achieve a managerial position. It wasn’t just a feeling; it was an understanding of reality. Interviewers weren’t allowed to ask me questions about my parenting or my thoughts on expanding my family, but in every interview, as we reviewed my résumé together, I felt that nod; it simultaneously expressed their understanding of my delicate situation as a mother, and yet disqualified me.

  After months of searching, I realized that I should lower my expectations of the coveted job, or just continue working where I was, but the work seemed boring and unrewarding. I soon realized that the even the less glamorous jobs on the market were not just sitting waiting for me. Despair began to gnaw at me. Every day I returned home in the early afternoon to my failing attempts to be a ‘normal’ mother. I tried to play with Nofar, but babyish games bored me, and her sharp instincts told her that I had no real desire to play and stay with her.

  To pass the hours until Amir arrived home, I started going down to the park near our apartment. My encounters with other mothers of toddlers only made my utter failure as a mother clearer. Every day, I found myself trying to imitate other mothers. Over time, I learned to look less and less abnormal. I learned to sing and smile falsely at Nofar while pushing her on the swing. I learned that as long as she wasn’t yet walking, I needed to bring a small blanket for her and spread it on the grass with some toys. I often looked around at the other women. They seemed to genuinely love and enjoy playing with their children; their sincere smiles and hugs were full of love and warmth. It was clear to me that not all of it was real, and that everyone wears a mask away from home, but others’ efforts seemed more natural to me. Other mothers sat together, talking, sharing diaper stories and recipes for toddlers, but I found it hard to fit in. I couldn’t fake interest in the conversation on topics that bored me terribly. I wondered at times whether there were more mothers like me. Although I felt abnormal, I imagined I wasn’t the only mother in the world who found a conversation about breast milk supplements extremely uninteresting. Despite all my attempts to blend in with the other mothers, occasionally my real lack of interest revealed itself in public. One torrid afternoon, I sat on the grass with Nofar near several other mothers I knew from kindergarten. If it hadn’t been so hot, I’d probably have chosen to sit somewhere else, but there was no other shady spot. I spread out my usual blanket and took out the usual toys. One of the mothers admired Nofar’s new dress that my mother had bought for her. I smiled with satisfaction. After a few minutes, I took out a bag of Bamba and gave Nofar one to nibble on happily.

  “How old is she?” one mother asked with a worried look when she saw Nofar holding the yellow snack.

  “A little more than ten months.” I smiled. The other mothers wouldn’t usually talk to me so I was glad for the opportunity.

  “And you’re already giving her Bamba?” another mother asked in surprise.

  “Why not?” I was surprised at the question. “It’s very soft and she’s just sucking it.”

  “It’s a peanut snack!” the first mother almost shouted. “You can’t give that to her before she turns one.”

  “She’s nearly a year old.” I tried to calm things down. To be honest, I had no idea you weren’t supposed to give children under a year peanuts.

  “They didn’t tell you this at the children’s clinic?”

  “No,” I said and smiled. I was ashamed to admit that I’d never been to the children’s clinic. Amir always took her to get the necessary shots, but I decided to pass on the developmental tests. The child seemed well developed and the pediatrician who’d seen her several times didn’t think she had any problems.

  “Either way, it's written in quite a few articles and books.” A third mother jumped in, trying to shame me and my ignorance. “Peanuts are allergenic… you mustn’t expose babies to allergenic foods. It could end in disaster.”

  “I don’t think she's allergic to peanuts.” I continued to smile, but I was burning with anger. I was angry at the audacity of these women who barely know me, yet felt comfortable enough to judge me. Mostly, though, I was angry with myself for not caring enough to read up on toddler foods.

  I often wondered if I was looking for a demanding administrative job in order to realize myself, or rather to find an excuse not to have to take care of my daughter every day.

  Across the globe, rumors began to circulate about a deepening economic crisis. Articles about banks closing and firms collapsing were published daily. The crisis began to seep slowly into the Israeli economy and the supply of jobs just dwindled, and with it my dream of a management career withered. The firm I worked for decided to avoid layoffs, despite the severe crisis, and chose to cut all employee wages. I now worked in the same dull, hateful job for lower wages.

  In December of that year, I realized that most of the interns who’d started working at the same time I had were now in various senior positions in accounting and management. Even interns who had received their license a year or more after me had begun to find their place in the field. I had been left behind. Amir couldn’t understand my unrest. I had a steady job; I had job security and wages that were slightly higher than the average. Although I’d said more than once that a managerial position would be more interesting, I didn’t know that for sure. I’d never worked in a management position. Amir didn’t understand the pressure on interns to move up th
e ranks. He wasn’t sure why there should be such pressure. I’d worked for my accounting firm for a total of four years, four months of which I’d been on maternity leave. “Aren’t there people in your office who’ve been there many more years?” he asked me more than once. There were veteran employees in the office, but in my eyes they seemed dull and uninspired. I wanted to thrive.

  Amir had worked for years as a software engineer. His job description and his rank in the company never interested him. He thought that, as long as I enjoyed the work and was getting paid better than before, the job description shouldn’t matter at all. He, of course, didn’t understand the meaning of job descriptions in my field of work.

  At Hanukkah, Inbal and David’s baby girl was born. Inbal was radiant while I’d never felt more drained. I knew that in order to return to my old self, I’d have to find another job. I couldn’t stand that searing jealousy that ate at me every time a friend from school or work got promoted. I hated myself for gloating every time I heard about a company closing and someone I knew got fired. Inbal's happiness blinded me completely. I couldn’t look at her and her idyllic family. I had to prove to everyone that I could fulfill my dreams.

  While preparing the annual reports for one of my clients, I learned that the company was looking for a new chief bookkeeper. The title startled me. I was a Certified Public Accountant (CPA), not a bookkeeper. The fact that they added ‘chief’ to the title didn’t make it any more attractive to me. The woman who was leaving was a bookkeeper by profession, although with the highest qualification in the field, but not a CPA like me. My reluctance to try for it disappeared when I realized that the job offered a salary that was higher by almost fifty percent than my current salary in the accounts office.