“What are you doing?” he shouted in alarm.
“What do you think?” I chuckled with amusement, hoping he’d play along.
He didn’t. His startled face was replaced by an angry one. ”I told you, I don’t feel well! Why are you jumping on me like that?”
It was my turn to change my facial expression from amused to insulted. “I'm just trying to get you in the mood.”
“I really don’t have the energy,” he said, trying to smile.
“You don’t need much,” I said firmly, ignoring his rejection and working toward my goal.
Before Amir could object again, I unzipped his pants and reached inside. After a few minutes of effort I had to accept nothing was going to happen. My egg wasn’t going to meet any sperm tonight. I lay down next to Amir, exhausted and disappointed. Amir turned to me with his trousers rolled down to his knees. I looked at his limp penis gloomily.
“Sorry,” he said. “I told you I wasn’t feeling well.”
“But I'm ovulating today… we're going to lose an entire month just because your work’s more important to you than us.”
“That’s not true.”
“It absolutely is...” I said and started to cry.
He pulled his pants up, reached over to me and started to gently caress my face. ”Everything’s okay. This is really nothing to cry about. We’re not in any race.” The problem was that I was in a race, a race he was unaware of and I had no doubt that, if he’d been aware of it, he’d have nothing to do with it.
I finally managed to get pregnant. About six months after the miscarriage, when Aya was in her second trimester, I got to see the long-awaited two stripes on my pregnancy test. I waved the test stick like a trophy. I’d done it!
Amir was still sleeping when I did the test. I jumped on him with joy. “Look!” I said happily.
Amir looked at the stick and smiled sleepily. “We’re having a baby!” he said.
“I'm pregnant!” I corrected him and then realized that I'd been so busy chasing the pregnancy for the last six months that I’d just forgotten that the goal was a baby, not a pregnancy.
Waiting for the first ultrasound was nerve wracking. Last time, I’d miscarried right before the first scan, but this time I passed the test and we heard a pulse. Amir was happy; he was about to be a father again. I was happy; I had a healthy pregnancy. The black cloud hovering over me began to disperse.
“We’re also expecting,” I informed Aya, in one of the few conversations I initiated in those months.
“Wow!” she said happily. “How long have you known?”
“A month and a half now.”
“And only now you’re telling me?” She sounded offended.
“I wanted to be sure.”
“You weren’t sure?” she chuckled. “All you have to do is smell your husband and you automatically get pregnant.”
I didn’t want to correct her. I wanted her to think that, at least in one respect, I was better than her.
“Well...” I stammered, looking for an answer, “Amir asked me not to say anything… his family’s very superstitious.”
“Really?” she laughed. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Trust me... they really are...” I joined her laughter.
“Then we’ll be on maternity leave together!” she said, delighted.
“Won’t you have finished your maternity leave by the time I give birth?”
“You think I'd only take three months off? I’ve been waiting for this child for so long, I want to be with him as much as possible.”
“Aren’t you worried about your career?”
“Absolutely not,” she said without even pausing to think, and again, I envied her determination and certainty of her priorities in life. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to extend my maternity leave. I felt my status in the company was unstable. I was afraid I wouldn’t have a place to return to after my maternity leave and, the more I extended it, the more likely it was that my replacement would take my place. Rina never stopped bragging about her nephew passing the accounting council tests, though with a barely passing grade, and I was afraid she’d stick him in my office and then make sure he stayed there. I knew I had to get someone to replace me, someone I can have control over.
I found my candidate months in advance: Erez, the intern who had replaced me in the accounting firm where I had once worked and came on a quarterly basis to prepare the financial statements. The fact that he was an intern was my security blanket. He had to return to the accountants’ office and finish his internship. On the one hand, he knew the case and the company because he prepared the quarterly and annual reports, but on the other hand, because I spoke with him often, I knew that my job didn’t interest him. He aspired to be a CFO, not an accountant. The routine work bored him, and he wanted to do business. I chuckled to myself about his grandiose ambitions. He was just an intern and already he aspired to reach the highest office our training would allow. I tried to explain to him that financial officer positions weren’t just waiting out there for beginner accountants to snatch them up, but he was determined.
When I finished my first trimester, I went to Gideon and told him about the pregnancy and the due date. He immediately said we needed to find a replacement for me.
“There’s still some time,” I said. I didn’t want to tell him who I’d picked out to be my replacement. I didn’t want him to know how important my job was to me. I wanted him to think Erez was just a fleeting thought that passed through my mind and not a stand-in I’d preplanned way in advance.
“True, but you hold a senior and central position here,” he said, and I thought how, when I have to take time off, my job suddenly becomes a senior and central one.
“I'll think of something,” I promised. “I just finished the first trimester of my pregnancy. I don’t want people to know yet and if we start looking for a temporary replacement, everybody will start talking.”
“Okay,” Gideon replied reluctantly.
“Gideon…” I began hesitantly because he already knew about the pregnancy, and I knew there was no point in hiding the miscarriage. “You remember the time I ran out of the office a few months ago?”
“Yes.”
“I had a miscarriage that day.” I looked down. The truth was that the memory wasn’t particularly painful, but I wanted Gideon to think it was a very sensitive issue for me.
“I figured,” he said softly. “My wife also had several miscarriages, and I had a feeling.”
“That's why I don’t want anybody except you to know until mid-pregnancy.”
“Okay,” he said in a fatherly voice that reminded me of my first year working here, when I felt like his protégé.
“I promise I'll look for someone discreetly.”
“I’m counting on you,” he smiled.
Three weeks later, I managed to speak to Erez, who was happy to be free of the drab office routine, and offered the idea to Gideon. Gideon thought it was a great idea. He called Reuben, who worked opposite him in the accounting firm, and asked if it was possible to have Erez work with us for several months. Reuben explained to Gideon that Erez would, in fact, continue to work for the accounting firm, but would be subcontracted to Smart Green, so his internship period wouldn’t be affected.
For me, this arrangement was perfect. Erez wasn’t even working for the company. I felt safe to go on maternity leave and then return to my role.
CHAPTER 9
Tom was born in August 2011, at the beginning of the ninth month of pregnancy. The contractions began when I was sitting with Erez, explaining how to prepare the paychecks. Erez asked something, and an intense pain shot through my body. He looked stunned. He was single and had never had anything to do with childbirth. Despite his panic, he helped me get to my car and drove me to the hospital, where he was replaced by Amir.
My pregnancy with Nofar began easily and ended with difficulties. This time, I had the opposite experience: it was harder to get pregnant, but the d
elivery was over within hours. Despite being born almost a month ahead of schedule, Tom was a cute, chubby baby. This time, I wasn’t exhausted and when the nurse handed him to me, I embraced him warmly. I felt I’d be a better mother this time around. Unlike Nofar, Tom nursed from me greedily. I enjoyed nursing him; I felt we’d established a connection he would never have with anyone else in the world.
Nofar came to meet her younger brother a day after he was born. Tom was nursing when she came in with Amir. She walked toward me hesitantly, reaching out her hand to touch Tom.
“Don’t touch him,” I shouted in alarm. I didn’t know if she’d washed her hands thoroughly.
Nofar, frightened by my shout, ran to Amir, who looked at me, stunned.
“Nofari,” I said softly, “you can touch the baby. You just need to wash your hands really well first. He’s very small and isn’t allowed to get sick.”
She didn’t want to get close to him anymore.
Although the delivery was easy and the hospital stay was pleasant, the timing was bad. I thought that I’d give birth at the very end of Nofar’s kindergarten vacation, so I’d have some peace and quiet until the afternoon came. But once I got back from the hospital, I didn’t have a minute's rest. This wasn’t a vacation.
For four years, I hadn’t been able to identify a single feature that connected Nofar with me, but once Tom was born, I knew she was my daughter. Jealousy seared her soul. She did everything to get my attention, which was primarily given to little Tom. The majority of attention she managed to get was down to bad behavior. She would intentionally pick on Tom or get up to some kind of mischief. She’d wait for Tom to fall asleep so I'd be available and then smear herself with chocolate, paint the walls, break a dish or simply burst into inexplicable tears. More than once I couldn’t help myself, and I’d shout at her to be more careful. Obviously, my shouting did no good and Tom would wake up sobbing. I’d just given birth, but couldn’t rest at all.
In my fantasy, I saw myself walking with my baby in green gardens, sitting at the end of the boulevard café, drinking iced coffee. I imagined how I’d use my mornings to clean up the house and prepare nutritious meals for Nofar and Amir. In practice, Amir would return each evening to a neglected home, sobbing children and an exhausted wife. It was a very busy period for him at work, and he rarely managed to get home early. Every time I called and yelled at him to help me, he answered in a weak voice that he couldn’t just get up and go. Recently, his company had been implementing massive layoffs, and he was afraid to leave early.
I hated going out with both children. Any outing was a tiresome project that demanded lots of organizing and made me lose my desire to see the light of day. When Tom was a little over two months old, Inbal insisted I go visit her with Nofar and Tom. I’d always been spellbound by Inbal's parenting skills, but now I was a mother of two myself. I looked at her conduct with her two little girls in open admiration. Coral wasn’t yet three years old and little Adi was a little over eighteen months. They ran around her constantly, and she made sure to respond to every question and request with admirable patience.
When we arrived, she got out some ingredients and invited Nofar to join them making chocolate chip cookies. Nofar savored every moment, eagerly mixing ingredients in a bowl and then forming small balls of dough that eventually went in the oven and turned, after a short period of baking, into sweet cookies. Inbal didn’t seem to worry about the mess the girls made in the kitchen or the fact that Adi lost her concentration very quickly and began to take out different dishes from the cupboard and play with them. She just played with the girls with delight and harmony. I wanted to be like that too, but every time Nofar didn’t have something to do and I didn’t want her to watch TV, I sent her to play with her dolls or draw something.
A few days later I decided to also do a cooking workshop with Nofar. I searched the Internet for a suitable recipe and decided to make cupcakes. The beginning was promising; Nofar, who wasn’t used to spending quality time with me, was thrilled with the activity I’d planned. She looked curiously at the tin that I’d bought especially for making the cupcakes and thoroughly checked the ingredients I put out on the work surface. I sent her to wash her hands and checked that Tom was still sleeping. Unlike Inbal, who let Nofar handle the ingredients and dirty the kitchen as she pleased, I found it hard to keep my cool whenever Nofar spilled anything with her unsteady hands. Nofar resented my intervention. She was a very independent little girl. Once all the ingredients were in the bowl, Nofar began to mix them awkwardly. I was holding her hands and helping her mix, even though it displeased her, when suddenly Tom woke up and started crying.
“Don’t move,” I commanded. “Mommy will be right back.”
I ran into the bedroom. Tom was awake, his diaper soaked and filthy. I cleaned him up and tried to calm him down, but he cried non-stop. He seemed to be ill. Nofar felt she’d been waiting for too long and thought I’d interfered too much in the baking anyway and continued to mix the ingredients without me. When she finished, she picked up the bowl and brought it to the nursery to show me what she’d done.
“I told you not to go on without me!” I shouted as I rocked Tom from side to side, trying to calm him down. She looked down, and I went on, “Why did you bring it in here? You’ve probably spread it all over the house!” Her bottom lip began to tremble, and I knew she’d be crying in a matter of seconds. Before I knew it, she turned round and suddenly fell over one of the toys strewn on the floor. The bowl and its contents flew through the air and landed on Tom’s bouncer. The whole room was covered with a sticky mixture of flour, sugar and eggs.
“Nofar!” I yelled in distress. “Look what you've done! The entire room’s covered in it now!”
Nofar fled to the bathroom, covering the hallway from the nursery to the bathroom with footprints smeared with cupcake mix. I heard her crying in the bathroom and decided to let her cry. I didn’t want to comfort her at that moment. I was too angry. I wanted someone to comfort me. Tom, spurred on by Nofar’s cries and my screams, cried even more feverishly, and I felt that I was a few seconds away from joining him. The bouncer usually helped soothe him when he was overwrought, but now it was completely covered with batter. I put him in his cot. He wouldn’t stop crying. I took the bowl with the leftover mixture to the kitchen, and on the way, I heard Nofar sobbing in the bathroom. Her crying confused me. I was sorry I yelled at her like that, but I wanted her to understand that she needed to be more disciplined. I glanced at the clock. It was already six o'clock. Amir should be on his way home, a welcome thought, especially when there was such a mess to deal with.
“Where are you?” I asked him as soon as I heard him on the line.
“Work.”
“You haven’t left yet?”
“Why would I? It’s barely five thirty.”
“It's after six.”
“It's still early.”
“What’s early about six?” I screamed. “Get your stuff and come home now!” I ordered.
“I really can’t.”
“There no such thing as can’t… you just don’t want to.”
“Come on, Rose,” he sighed. “You know what it’s like here, and I have a huge presentation tomorrow. I was planning to work late tonight.”
“So work from home, after you help me here. Nofar made a terrible mess here and Tom’s not well… I need you to come home.”
“Can’t you ask your mother to come help you?”
“No,” I snapped. I could ask, but I really didn’t want to. I was sick of him constantly suggesting I ask my mother for help.
“Okay,” he replied in an impatient voice. “I'll finish what I can here and get home.”
“Make it quick.”
“I'll try, but it’ll take me at least an hour to finish up.”
I knew he wasn’t going to get home before eight. I sat in the living room. Nofar was still shut in the bathroom, and Tom was screaming in his cot. I looked at my crying baby and began screaming.
I screamed for a few seconds, letting out all the anger and pain. When I finished screaming, I started to cry uncontrollably. I sat on the couch, almost paralyzed, and cried. I couldn’t move myself. I was angry with myself for getting into this situation, I hated Amir for putting me in this situation and I felt sorry for my two children who were within reach of me, but I couldn’t get myself to comfort them.
After a few minutes, which seemed like an eternity, I got up, went to the kitchen, blew my nose and washed my face. I picked up Tom, whose crying fit had made him hiccup. I kissed his bald head and gently wiped his tear drenched face. He began to relax. I went with him to the bathroom. Nofar was sitting in the corner, her eyes swollen with tears. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Come on!” I gestured to her and hugged her with my free hand.
“I didn’t mean to make a mess,” she said, sobbing.
“I know, darling.” I kissed her again. “You need to just be a little more careful and to listen to me more.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
I washed all of us, heated a frozen pizza for Nofar and breastfed Tom. I decided to leave the mess for Amir. I settled Nofar in our bed and waited for Amir in the living room. He arrived a little after eight thirty. He smiled when he saw me sitting comfortably on the couch with little Tom sleeping on me peacefully. He hadn’t yet seen the mess in the kitchen and nursery. He came up to me, kissed me on my forehead and gently stroked Tom’s head. “I see the storm’s passed,” he whispered.
I didn’t answer. He realized that I was still angry and turned toward the nursery to see Nofar. He liked to look at her when she was asleep. I stood up and followed him. I wanted to see his reaction at the sight of the mess. Immediately after turning on the light, he stepped back in disbelief. He turned and saw me standing behind him. He had a surprised look on his face.
“What is it?” he whispered. “What happened? Where’s Nofar?”
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