by Ariella Papa
“Please do, I miss you guys,” she says.
“We miss you too,” I say. That had been true when I first moved to New York for my new job, and when I was feeling nostalgic for the times we went out drinking when I was stuck home and pregnant, but I haven’t thought about Liz at all in so long. I am completely self-absorbed.
“I think Mike might propose.”
“Really? What are you going to say?”
“Ruth,” she gasps. “Yes, of course. Motherhood really is affecting your brain. I have wanted this for three years. “
I stop myself from asking why. It all led to such a bleak path. Maybe I need therapy.
“Well, I will call you and let you know.” I don’t know why I am keeping up the charade. I will call her when I know I am going to get her answering machine and tell her I can’t make it.
We get off the phone, and I look down at the woman painting my toes a burgundy color called After Sex that I picked because it looked fun and the name made me smile. Now I think it looks as though I am trying too hard, and besides I never have any sex anymore.
“You like color?” the beautician asks, gesturing to my toes.
“Very nice, very pretty,” I say. I refuse to let myself cry at the nail place. It isn’t that I am above crying in public, because at this point I’m not. But, in this massage chair with my toes only just started, I am a captive audience. If I cry, I am going to have explaining to do and people are going to take pity on my and offer me words of encouragement or maybe they won’t speak English and I will have to try to figure out what they are saying. It is all way too exhausting.
In the back of my head is the idea that I am going to have to start looking for a nanny soon. I know I am going back to work in six weeks and I need child care. This is not a subject I feel that I can even address with Steve. I think I want to keep putting it off. I keep reading ads for people’s nannies or nanny shares on the moms Listserv I belong to. There are tons of supposedly loving nannies that families are dying to get rid of. I don’t know how I am supposed to find the perfect person. And I’m not sure I really want the person to be perfect. What if they do it better than me? That would mean that it was me who was the defective mother model all along.
I lie back against the massage chair and close my eyes. The roller on the back of the massage chair is working the knots in my neck, but the knots are stronger. They will prevail. I wish I could shut everything off for a few minutes, for a few hours, maybe longer.
I pay for my pedicure and hop on the subway back to Prospect Heights. The train isn’t full. I have a whole row of three seats to myself. Lately, all I do is calculate how comfortable places might be to lie down and sleep and how long I could get away with it. I figure I can get to Coney Island before anyone says anything to me.
But I don’t lie down. I get off at my stop. I so don’t want to go home yet. I probably have another hour before Abe will really need me. I feel guilty for all of this. I should want to see my son. I should miss him. I walk swiftly down my street. And then right before my house I stop to sit on a stoop. I am sweating and breathing heavily. My breasts are full and starting to ache. This is Claudia, the BobCut’s house. But she never gets home before six, hustling her children up the stairs like they don’t have a moment to spare. I will be long gone by then.
When am I going to feel normal again? Every time I thought I was close to being myself it kept eluding me. Talking to Liz today was a big highlighter to the fact that I am never going to be the same.
I glance down at my newly pedicured toes. Damn! They are already messed up. It never fails. The paint on my left big toe is puckered and wrinkled. I can see the white of my nail beneath. Why did I even bother trying to beautify myself? It is the one nice thing I have done to try and feel pretty, and it is futile.
“Is everything ok?” The voice startles me. I turn around and see Claudia peeking out her screen door at me. I stand up, losing my balance. I reach down to steady myself on her step. Not exactly graceful.
“Yes, everything is fine. I was taking a break.”
“Is the baby ok?” Claudia looks quite concerned.
“I think so,” I say, glancing at my apartment. “I mean, yes, he is.”
She comes out of the house swiftly, moving toward me like I am on fire. “Did you leave him in the house?”
“No, he is with my mother-in-law,” I say. I can’t believe I seemed that bad the last time that she actually thinks I might abandon my child. For some reason, I start to impersonate Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood.
“I’ve abandoned my child, I’ve abandoned my boy,” I shout. Then I laugh. I crack myself up, but Claudia isn’t laughing. I try to explain I was quoting. “You know that movie There Will Be Blood?”
“No, I never saw it. I heard it was good. I haven’t seen a movie since Chicago. The baby is really with your mother-in-law?”
“Yes,” I say, starting to get pissed off. Claudia backs off a little.
“It’s funny you’re here. I just made you a quiche, and some beef stew that I was going to bring over this afternoon,” she says this almost as if she was accusing me.
“I swear I didn’t know,” I say as if under oath.
“Well, I guess how could you have?” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, anyway I can give it to you now.”
“Thank you.”
“Why don’t you come in?”
“No. I mean, if it’s not a good time. I don’t want to just show up, I mean even though I guess I did. You probably weren’t expecting guests. I don’t want to impose.” I really don’t want to go in her house. She kind of scares me.
“Nonsense, the house is always ready for visitors.” Now I was really afraid. But I am on her stoop, and she apparently made me food, which means no takeout, which might make me feel better about myself, which I need after the whole toe incident.
“Ok,” I say. Plus it will delay my dealings with Pam. She likes to catch the 5:37 train from Penn. The later I get back, the less time I will have to spend justifying my various life choices to Pam.
She wasn’t kidding about the house being visitor-ready. It is immaculate. There is not a bit of clutter.
“Do you have a cleaning person?”
“No, I just try to be organized.”
“Seems like it works.”
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Um, water.”
It takes her a little while to get the water, so I glance around her apartment. It’s really big and spacious, but a little bit stiff. When she returns from the kitchen, she is carrying a snack tray with brie, crackers, sliced pear, and a goblet of water. She sets it on the coffee table and sits in the love seat across from me.
“This is nice. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing. So I made you my toasted pine nut quiche and my three-meat stew.”
“Thank you,” I say. “This is the best part of having a baby. All the food you get. Kirsten’s potpie was amazing.”
Claudia pauses as she is about to cut into the brie. “Kirsten made you a potpie?”
I’m not quite sure how to respond. She seems annoyed, as though Kirsten was pissing her off somehow by cooking. “Yes.”
“Was it good?”
“Yeah, it even had a fresh homemade crust.” I’m not quite sure why I volunteer that last part. Claudia takes a small bite of her cracker and dabs her mouth. She uncrosses and recrosses her legs at the ankle.
“Well, you will have to let me know what you think of this stew. It has lamb, beef and bison. I also put some chanterelles in there.”
“Sounds delicious. Thanks again.” Suddenly it occurs to me that she is competing with Kirsten
Claudia doesn’t say anything and I’m not sure what to say to her. The only thing we might possibly have in common is the fact that we are moms. I cut off a piece of cheese and smear it on a cracker. When I take a bite, the crumbs fall everywhere. Claudia’s eyes follow them down onto her immaculate couch.
“So how are the twins?”
“They’re fine, thanks. It can be challenging. Well, you know how it is. Having a newborn is hard. Imagine two newborns.”
“I can’t. I really can’t imagine.” Is this also a competition? Because she wins, hands down. I can’t imagine having anything more than I have. And I can’t imagine having all that and a place this clean. She nods pleased with her victory in that round. There is a long awkward pause.
“So did you have the day off?” I ask.
“Oh, no, well, I mean, yes, I am home today, but even though it’s a day off, I am working from home. You know I can never really have the day off. But I wanted a little more quiet. Some time to collect my thoughts.” She looks away. There is a tremble beneath her skin, but only for a moment and then she is composed.
“Do you work?”
“Yeah, well, I mean, I did, I’m on leave. I am a producer for this show about NYC real estate. It’s called Open House. It’s on the Gotham Network. Do you get that?” She nods.
“I think so. We have so much TV, but I never get to watch. I’m in the business, too. I work for Chester Media.”
I nod, but I don’t know that company. I think Claudia expects me to. The next time I get online, I will google it. She can tell I don’t know what she is talking about.
“We do Dragon Circle among other more traditional soaps.”
“Dragon Circle, the vampire one?” She nods. I was forever channel surfing through that and it looked pretty cool. “What do you do?”
“I’m the vice president of production accounting.”
“Fancy,” I say, but I immediately feel like putting my foot in my mouth. Claudia doesn’t really seem to have any sense of humor. I eat another cracker. On the plus side, I am minimizing my crumbs.
“When do you go back?” Claudia asks. I look at my watch.
“I should probably go soon. My mother-in-law is going to want to catch her train soon. She is super regimented,” I say. Again I want to insert my poorly pedicured foot, because from all appearances Claudia is super regimented too.
“No, I meant, when do you go back to work?”
“Oh, right, well, I haven’t really given it much thought. I guess I am supposed to go back in six weeks. Luckily we are in hiatus through the end of the summer so I can take extra time. I can’t even imagine going back now.”
“But don’t you want to feel like an adult again? You know, talk to real people?’
I don’t know how to answer. I can’t really imagine leaving Abe for such long periods of time. I have no idea who is going to take care of him. But I don’t feel I can tell Claudia that. I have a feeling I am going to be judged. I shrug.
“Well, anyway, I should pack up your food, if you need to get back. I should probably do some work too.”
“Ok,” I stand up and try to ignore the amount of crumbs that roll off me. Claudia goes back into her kitchen and emerges with a large paper bag.
“What is all this?”
“Oh, it’s a few extras. I put some paper plates in there because I know that the last thing you want to do at the end of the night is dishes.”
“Thank you, that was so thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome.” She walks me to the door. “Please call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks again.”
I walk back over to my apartment. I really am missing Abe, and this whole idea of having to go back to work makes me want to snuggle him. I take a deep breath and open the door.
Pam is rocking Abe ferociously. He is only wearing a diaper.
“He’s exhausted,” she says right away.
“Do you need to catch your train? Sorry it took so long.”
“Well, we had a grand time, Abe and Maw-Maw.” Maw-Maw is what she insists on being called as if she is Minnie Pearl or something. She switches her voice to a high chirp. “Didn’t we? Yes, didn’t we, Abe?”
Abe smiles. The traitor.
“Where are his clothes?”
“He felt hot. Don’t you think it’s a little hot in here?”
“Not really.”
“He was burning up.” Are we really going to have to do this every week?
“Did you give him all the milk?” I left specific instructions to try to only use one bottle.
“I had too. He was starving.”
“Really? Ok.” He wasn’t starving. He couldn’t have been, but feeding him is the easy solution. I want to point that out to her, but I can’t figure out a way to do it without seeming completely ungrateful. I glance at the clock. It is a quarter to five. “Do you need to catch your train?”
“Yes, I should. Unless you need me to stay so you can take a shower or something.”
“No, I’m fine,” I say. I actually took a shower this morning, but glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I see that it barely makes a difference. Maybe it is hot. Maybe Abe is burning up. I had abandoned my boy. It’s cooler in Boston, but I’m not going there.
“Well then, I’ll get my things,” she says. She hesitates before handing Abe back to me. I know she doubts my competence, and as if she has spent the afternoon brainwashing Abe, he immediately starts to wail when he gets into my arms. Thanks, kid.
“I can stay,” Pam says again.
“No, we’ll be fine,” I say. The offer is enticing, but not if it means agreeing to it.
“I think he’s hungry,” Pam says. “You don’t have any more milk?”
“Not pumped. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine,” I say. But I am not sure I believe it. I don’t want to feed him in front of her. I want her gone. I want to reconnect with him.
She takes an extraordinary amount of time to collect her things and leave. She asks me several more time if I need her to stay and then coos at Abe and says things like “you poor hungry baby” to make sure I get the idea that she thinks he should be fed.
At long last I lock the door behind her and carry him back with me over onto the couch. I don’t think he is hungry. He had two big bottles of milk. Why does he always have to be something, tired or hungry or have a dirty diaper? Why can’t he just want to cry for the fuck of it? That’s how I felt all the time these days. Sure there are reasons, but in the end sometimes it is a relief to cry.
I put him next to me on couch so that I can set myself up to feed him and he lets out the loudest longest wail. Immediately I pick him up and he spits up. Was it possible that he has been overfed?
The smell of his spit up reassures me so much that I don’t mind that it got all over the front of my shirt. I’m not going out again anyway. I dab it off with the burp cloth. After he spits up, he looks at me and smiles in relief. I giggle and then he nestles into me and falls asleep.
“Oh, my god,” I say out loud and squeeze his little body. It is amazing. Maybe he missed me and needs his mama to relax.
I let him sleep on me for a good twenty minutes, savoring the moments. But then, in spite of how awesome it is, I decide to maximize the time and I pump my full breasts. I get an unprecedented five ounces on each side. So exciting. I set up a pillow barrier around him on the couch and on the floor. I pull the coffee table across the room in case he falls off. In truth there is no way that even if he rolls over and over he could ever hit it, but I need to be certain. I go into the kitchen and do all the dishes and set up the coffeemaker to make coffee tomorrow.
He is st
ill sleeping when Steve gets home. I have Claudia’s stew heating up on the stove, following the explicit instructions she wrote out for me on her personalized stationary.
“Wow, it smells great in here. Wait, where’s Abe?” Steve asks.
“I’ve abandoned my child! I’ve abandoned my boy!” I shout. And Steve gets it. We saw There Will Be Blood together, and now we both stand in the kitchen hysterically laughing.
“Really,” I say, between gulps of laughter. “Really, he’s on the couch.”
“Wow,” Steve says wiping his eyes. “You had a good day, huh? I guess my mother’s visit really helped.”
Part of me doesn’t want to admit that. It isn’t solely that. It definitely helped to have some time to myself. But most importantly what made me happy was to go home and feel that I was at last beginning to understand Abe. Or that he was beginning to trust me. And also it was awesome to have him nestle into me that way.
Steve and I eat dinner in the kitchen. Steve even opens up a bottle of wine. Claudia’s three meat-stew is delicious. I will have to stop by and tell her. Or maybe I should send her a formal thank-you.
Every couple of minutes one of us goes into the living room to check on Abe. While I can’t fully relax, it is certainly one of the best meals I had in a long time. The wine helps.
We hear a little squawk from the living room and we both calmly go in to get him. Steve dutifully gets me a glass of water and I nurse Abe painlessly.
He falls asleep on the boob, and Steve carefully transports him into his crib. I hold my breath, cringing when I hear the floor squeak. It’s a spot I know to avoid. But it miraculously doesn’t wake Abe and Steve joins me on the couch.
“Do you think he is down?” I dare to ask.
“I don’t know. He was pretty out of it. He didn’t stir at all.”
“Should we watch TV or something? It’s only nine. He never goes down this early.”
“I know, it’s crazy,” Steve says. “Wow!”
“Yeah, wow,” I say. I lean my head against the shoulder. It is so amazing to be sitting here with him on the couch and not have a baby strapped to me. “Have you seen Tiny Mouse lately?”
