The pressures on a woman to be a mother are out of this world, and I will never understand for the life of me why the fuck my wife even compares herself to what other parents are during with their children. I didn’t think it made our daughter less than any other child who was getting breast milk but tell that shit to my wife, and there was like zero understanding. Then, she was always on these new mother websites and looking at shit online. If she felt like she wasn’t doing something that another parent was doing with their child, it made her less than. It was to the point that I just wanted to call Comcast and tell them to disconnect all of our services. That way, she wouldn’t be able to get on the internet and look up shit.
I came into the house from being at my shoe store all day and said a quick prayer because I didn’t have the slightest clue of what type of mood my wife would be in tonight with her moody ass. I kicked my shoes off, leaving them by the door, and jogged up the stairs, heading in the direction that I heard the crying coming from, which was Jamari’s nursery. A room that we spent thousands on, only for her little ass to sleep in the room with us.
My chest was where she slept because when she was lying on my chest, that’s the only time she would sleep for at least two hours straight, and those two hours were well needed. It was the only time that Mahogany and I were able to get some sleep. Since Mahogany was back cool with her mom, she had been coming over lately to watch the baby. That’s usually when we could get a little break just to clean the house, take a shower, or whatever other little shit that our demanding ass baby kept us from doing.
When I walked into the room, Mahogany had Jamaria in her crib, and our baby was screaming her lungs out. Mahogany wasn’t sitting too far from her in the rocking chair, but it’s as if she had zoned out. Her eyes weren’t even on me when I walked in the room. Instead, they were zoomed in on the wall in front of her. She was in the same clothes that I left her in this morning when I headed into work. It was a tank top and those same tights that she cried about last night when I told her that her ass looked fatter. Her hair was standing up on top of her head, and I couldn’t even remember the last time she ran a comb through that bitch.
We had a newborn baby, so I didn’t expect her to be walking around this bitch looking the way she looked when we first met because I knew how much hard work and dedication that Jamaria required. So, my wife looked like the epitome of a mommy with a newborn.
“Mahogany! Shorty, you don’t hear the motha fuckin’ baby crying, yo? Fuck is wrong with you?” I barked at her.
That’s when she snapped out of whatever daze she was in and sat up in her seat. I shook my head at her and picked Jamaria up from the crib. As soon as I held her, I could smell her and see that her diaper needed to be changed. I turned around and looked at my wife, who looked like she was ashamed of herself. She held her head down in shame, unable to even look at me, embarrassed that I walked in on her letting the baby just fuckin’ cry like this. I mean, we took a parenting class together, and we did learn that if we ever just got overwhelmed with the baby, then we needed to lay the baby down and walk away. But, damn, I couldn’t help but wonder how long she had the damn baby crying.
“I’m sorry. She’s just been crying… she’s been crying all day. I don’t know what to do, Jabari.” Her voice was gone, which was understandable because she cried all damn day too, so she’d made her voice go fuckin’ hoarse.
I held my daughter in my arms as I reached out and pulled my wife into me. I had both of my babies under me, and I swear they were having a damn crying match. Mahogany buried her head under my arms as she softly cried.
“I’m not good at this, Jabari. She… she hatesss me. I know she hates me,” Mahogany kept saying.
I swear that was her favorite thing to say. Since Jamaria’s birth, Mahogany hadn’t said one positive thing about herself when it came to her mothering. My God, this was the same damn woman who pushed her own damn baby out by herself, without the help of anyone. She wasn’t giving herself any credit.
“Bae, you trippin’ like a motha fucka right now. You smoked my weed out of my stash in the room?” I questioned.
I was dead serious because she was talking crazy, and I was still picturing the daze that she was in when I walked into the room a few moments ago.
“Bari, I’m serious!” she cried, pulling away and wiping her eyes.
“I’m motha fuckin’ serious too, shorty! You gotta be on some good dope because you talking crazy. How a one-month-old baby hate you? She don’t even know what hate means. You don’t smell the shit coming from her diaper? That’s why she’s crying, shorty, not because she hates you. You be saying reckless shit, man. Go take a shower. I got her,” I said, and she shook her head.
It’s like she was determined to be the one to stop Jamaria from crying.
“I’ll change her,” she said, trying to get Jamaria from me, but I curved her. She kept reaching for her, and that only made the baby cry even harder.
“Mahogany, chill out, yo! I got her. Go take a fuckin’ shower or something. You pissing her off, trying to take her from me,” I said, and the moment I said it, I regretted it because she already felt like our daughter liked me more than her. Her body froze mid-reach of her trying to take Jamaria, and I could tell from that alone that I’d hurt her feelings.
“You know I ain’t mean it like that. Let me change her diaper, and then I’ll give her to you, aight?” I asked her.
“You did mean it like that, Jabari!” she cried and shoved me. “You don’t have to throw it in my fuckin’ face that she likes you better than me,” and with that, she marched her ass out of the room, all the while, still crying.
In seconds, I heard her open and slam the bedroom door to our room. I pulled down on my chin hair as I laid my daughter down. She had stopped crying, and right now, she was just making little noises.
“Your mama crazy as hell. Don’t even worry about having no little brother or sister because I’m not knocking her up any time soon. God, I hope you don’t get her attitude.” I spoke to my daughter as if she really knew what the hell I was even talking about.
I changed her diaper, and the whole time, I swear I had to hold my breath because her little ass smelled like death. Once I had her out of her clothes, I brought her into the bathroom that was inside her room and sat her in her flower foam tub that was in the sink. Mahogany was usually the one who gave Jamaria her baths, but I would try it for the first time tonight.
Mahogany swore up and down that she wasn’t a good mom, but right now, as I gave my baby a bath, I found myself doing all of the little things that I would see Mahogany do at night. I cleaned between her little toes, wiped in the little crevices of her baby fat, all the stuff that I would see my wife doing. When I finished, I wrapped her little body up in a pink unicorn bath towel and carried her back into her room. It took me about another ten minutes to lotion her body and to find a onesie to put on her.
Like this shit was nothing to me, I carried her down the stairs and prepared her bottle, all the while holding her. Once it was fixed, and I put it into the bottle warmer, we went over to the couch so I could feed her. Her little greedy ass attacked that bottle. In the middle of me feeding her, my phone started ringing in my pocket. I was able to pull it out without letting the nipple slip out of Jamaria’s mouth, and when I saw who it was, I sucked my teeth. I knew that I couldn’t keep avoiding her because, at the end of the day, this was my ole girl.
The reason she was calling was that our daughter was a month old, and she still hadn’t seen her yet. She’d only seen her on the pictures that I would send to her. She’s been hounding me since Jamaria was born about wanting to see her. As her grandparent, I could see why she would want to see her, but my wife wasn’t allowing that shit right now, and I couldn’t do anything but respect it. As badly as I wanted to ignore her call like I’d been doing the rest of them, I didn’t. I picked the phone up and put it on speaker as I laid it on the armrest of the sofa.
“What’s up,
ma?” I asked, looking down at my daughter and falling in love with her pretty self all over again.
I held the bottle for her since she couldn’t do it on her own yet, and as I did it, she had her little hand wrapped around my pinky finger. That little motion just spoke volumes to me. I swear it spoke so much love.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but prior to you getting with this girl—”
“My wife. Who’s not a girl either. Who’s a grown ass woman,” I said, feeling the need to correct her.
I heard her suck her teeth, and I was prepared for her to say some slick shit to me, so I could either say some slick shit right back or just fuck around and hang up the phone on her ass. I didn’t believe in being disrespectful to the woman who birthed me, but at the same time, I wasn’t about to let the woman who birthed me disrespect me or anyone around me. Period! She had gotten way too fuckin’ comfortable when it came to talking about my wife.
“Whatever she is to you! I feel like prior to you getting with her, you never used to go days without calling me back or responding to text messages. I just want you to know that I’ll be in Miami tomorrow, and I hope that I get the chance to see my daughter,” she let me know.
“Ma, with all due respect, ain’t shit change. If you came down here with hopes of seeing Jamaria, then let me know how much money you spent on your plane ticket, and I’ll send you back your money right now. My wife don’t want you around—”
“Your wife! Nigga, what about you? You going to let that skinny bitch run you? I thought you were a fuckin’ man!” she yelled.
I could hear the anger, the disdain, and even what sounded like hate all in her voice. Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose as I removed the bottle from my daughter’s mouth because she’d fallen asleep. I stood up with her in my arms, laying her little body on my chest as I patted her back, so I could burp her. At the same time, I picked up the phone to check some shit right quick.
“Best believe my wife don’t run me, but I damn sure listen to her. She couldn’t stress enough to me how she didn’t want you around our child until you came at her with an apology, and the motha fucka had better be genuine because, other than that, you’ll continue to see Jamaria only through pictures. That skinny bitch that you are referring to is my wife, and I’ll cut off all ties with any motha fucka for disrespecting her, and that includes your ass. My wife don’t speak bad on you, so show me and her the same respect and don’t speak bad on her either. I am a fuckin’ man because if I wasn’t, I would have been on the first thing smoking to Georgia to slap you in your damn mouth for disrespecting my wife. I would have slapped you before for even bringing that bitch around my wife when I wasn’t there, and—”
“Ohhhh, that’s what this is about? Are we still even having this conversation after months of it fuckin’ happening?” she asked, as if her having Kenyatta around my wife wasn’t a big ass fuckin’ deal.
“Yes, we still having this conversation, man. If you haven’t realized, you deciding to be spiteful and messy is the reason why you haven’t even gotten a chance to hold your grandchild yet. It’s only so much disrespect that a nigga is going to take from your ass. Remember who pays your bills, and the next time you converse with that bitch, ask yourself where your loyalty lies. Kenyatta is a fuckin’ enemy, and I don’t fuck with people who fraternize with the fuckin’ enemy. Remember that the next time you ask to see your grandchild,” and with that, I hung up the phone on her ass.
No, I didn’t find joy nor pleasure in talking to my ole girl like that over the phone, but she just brought parts out of me that nobody else could. I felt like she didn’t even try to give my wife a chance. Right off the bat, she just didn’t like her. It wasn’t that I was choosing my wife over my mama, but if the shoe was on the other foot and Mahogany was constantly disrespecting my ole girl, I would have checked her about it too.
I threw my phone in my back pocket and made sure that all the lights were off downstairs before I finally went back up. I prayed, asking God to allow Jamaria to sleep in her own damn bed tonight because her mama and I needed to talk. This conversation was long overdue. I bit my bottom lip, being as quiet and as gentle as possible as I laid Jamaria down in her crib. She stirred a little bit, but I gently patted her, and pretty soon, she was stretched out and gently snoring. I creeped out of the room, closing the door behind me.
We had the baby monitor in our bedroom, so we would know if she woke up. All I needed was an hour. That was enough time for me to talk to Mahogany, take a shower, and smoke a blunt.
When I made it inside the bedroom, Mahogany was sitting in the middle of the bed wearing one of her Victoria secret pajama sets, and there were tissues in her hands that she was using to wipe her face. When she saw me come in the room, she quickly tried to get herself together, but I’d already seen her. I could smell her and tell that she’d showered, and because her hair was wet, I knew that she’d washed her hair too.
I stood by the door with my arms folded across my chest as I just watched her, wondering what the hell was wrong with her now. She wouldn’t even look at me. Her eyes were everywhere in the room but on me. Light sniffles could be heard from her side of the bed as she rocked herself back and forth.
“What’s wrong with you, Mahogany?” I asked, walking closer to her on the bed.
She just shook her head no as fresh tears ran down her face. This girl was going to drive herself fuckin’ crazy with all this damn emotional ass shit. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive to her feelings at all, but damn. At the end of the day, this was some shit that I couldn’t judge her on because us men would never know what it feels like to have a baby, and we would never know what it feels like after, so I couldn’t speak on it, but I just didn’t assume that it would be this bad. She wasn’t even this emotional when she was pregnant.
“Fuck is you crying for then if nothing is wrong with you? You going to do this shit every night? Baby, I’m trying like a motha fucka to respect your postpartum, but you ain’t making shit easy on a nigga, yo. We got a baby that’s crying damn near all hours of the day, but in my eyes, when she’s crying, it’s either one of three things; her diaper needs to be changed, she’s hungry, or she’s sleepy. When it comes to you, I feel like the shit is harder because it’s one out of one million things. What you crying for, shorty? The baby is sleeping. There’s nothing else for you to do but to go to sleep your damn self. I got her. I already told you that I wasn’t going in the store tomorrow, so I’ll be up with her tonight,” I let her know.
She released her left hand, which I had just now noticed was closed, and that’s when I saw that she was holding hair in her hands. I didn’t even know where that shit came from. Then again, it was the same sandy brown, curly hair that was on her head. I realized that it must have come out when she took a shower. She moved her hands through her hair, and that’s when she showed me the few patches that had come out.
“I washed my hair when I was taking a shower, and it just started coming out in chunksss… I knew women suffered hair loss after having a baby, but I was hoping that I was one of those women who it didn’t happen to. I’m not trying to run you crazy or run myself crazy for that matter, but everything is happening to me all at once… I’m sorry… I’m sorry. I’m going to do better,” she said, all the while, she was still crying.
I stood over her and used the back of my hands to wipe her face.
“Where your brush and shit at?” I asked.
“In the bathroom. Under the counter,” she said, followed by a hiccup.
I walked into the bathroom and looked under the cabinet then I came back with her big comb for her thick ass hair, her brush, and some of the hair moisturizer that I saw her use on her hair all the time.
“If you didn’t tell me that your hair had come out, I wouldn’t have even known. Let me help you out. Daddy got you, alright?” I told her, and she nodded.
I didn’t know what the fuck I was even doing. The most I ever had to do to Mahogany’s hair w
as give her scalp massages because she loved that shit or hold that motha fucka up whenever she was giving me head, but that was it. Every time I combed through it and some hair fell out, I stashed the shit in my pocket because I didn’t want her to get even more emotional. My large hands were able to brush and comb her hair up and put it in one of those buns that she would put her hair in at night whenever she went to sleep.
“You like it?” I asked her after I pulled her hands up and walked her over to the floor mirror.
With a small smile on her face, she nodded her head up and down, letting me know that she liked it. I mean, it didn’t look as good as hers would have looked, but it was good for me to have done it.
“Come outside on the balcony with me. I think you need to hit the blunt as much as I do,” I said.
I walked over to my dresser for my stash, and then I went to the glass sliding door that we had in our bedroom and pulled it back. I took a seat on one of the chairs, and it wasn’t long before Mahogany came outside to join me, this time with her house shoes on and a blanket wrapped around her body. She took a seat on my lap and curled her body against mine, lying sideways on me as she rested her head on my chest.
I rolled up the blunt, doing it fast because I needed this shit. For the first five minutes or so, we didn’t even say anything to each other. We let the wind do all the talking. Once I’d rolled a perfect blunt, I lit it and took a long pull from it. I passed it to my wife, who took a long pull but then started choking. I patted her pack, and when I tried to take the blunt from her, she shook her head no.
“I haven’t smoked in ten months. Give me a minute to get my lungs in order,” she said after she finished coughing.
“You fuckin’ up a perfectly rolled blunt. Hit the shit right or don’t hit that motha fucka at all,” I said, and she hit the blunt again, but this time, she wasn’t choking and shit. When she finished, she passed it back to me, and her head went right back on my chest.
Down With the King of the South 4 Page 6
