So many dark nights of the soul have begun with this:
a crying baby
-she wouldn't stop fussing, gnawing at my shoulder, hot to the touch in a blue-eyed fever. All day long baby Ever whimpered off and on, Lola lounged, attention-less. Everything was off, like the scratch of overgrown bushes against the front window. The dogs out of food, cats meowing on the damn roof again, lawn overgrown, out of milk, burnt the toast, the washer thumped laundry so angrily the wall shook. thumpthumpthump fussfussfuss guiltguiltguilt
Why don't you take the baby on a walk? Mr. Curry asked me this. For the second time. Ever scrambled sharp nails over my chest, raked my nipple. I was too tired to explain that I was too tired to take her on a walk. Pumped full of estrogen from the morning after pill, a pill that should be called fuckedupforaweek,easily pill because that's what I was: exhausted, irritable, achy muscled and headachy, with the vague ghost of guilt hanging over my skin like a wet linen shirt- I ended a possibility. This is true, don't try to talk me out or in to anything, I consider it one of my superpowers, that I never end possibilities. But. This time, I did. Washing Ever, the water moving, I thought hormone bath.
Mr. Curry cooked. Steaks on stove top, vegetables plated, apron on, swept the floor. Before he had cooked, he cleaned. Before he cleaned, he bathed. All important things. All non-miserablebabyholding things. I hid in the bedroom, a sulky cave of dark blue, walls blue, sheets blue, a blanket pinned over the blinds to keep cold drafts out that aggravate Ever's lungs. Mr. Curry walked in, kitchen towel over his shoulder, eyes tired. Why don't you take her on a walk? he asked in the even, flat tone that means he is aggravated with me. I don't want to take her on a walk, I managed. My mind wouldn't stay focused on anything*. Another casualty of hormones. I started to cry. I'm overwhelmed, I told him. It's been a hard day. He looked at me and sighed and threw up his hands, large cooking birds: If you want to talk to me, why don't you come in the kitchen! and walked out.
I stomped in the kitchen, Ever chewing on her hand, drool down her arm, my arm. What is the matter with you? Why are you starting a fight with me? I'm having a hard day why would you start a fight now? He poked at the steaks, said, You just want to sit around and be miserable. I don't know why you won't just take her on a fucking walk!
I walked out. I walked back in. Lola sat on the couch.
This really sucks, I shouted. Why are you being so mean!? What are we even fighting about?
I'm not being mean, I've had a long day too, I'm trying to cook dinner and you want me to take her and cook and you won't take my advice. ( he shouted, too. )
I don't want you to take her! I was just trying to vent! And I've told you I need a break, you are cooking and cleaning why do you make me say that I don't want to hold my own baby. I don't want to say No, I'd rather cook than hold her, but I've told you I need a BREAK. Remember how you were that one day, when you had her for an hour and a half and she cried? You were a mess!
Oh sure bring that up! Fine! I'll take her and you cook dinner!
Of course I said no.
He followed me, past Lola, still on the couch. We shouted at each other. I went into one room, then another, mindlessly. He followed. I put on my flip flops. Stop talking! I yelled at the top of my lungs on my way out the door. Just shut up!
I walked around the block, once.
When I came back in, he asked Lola to leave the room. Maggie, he said. I'm really sorry. You were right sweetie. I'm sorry. It's really hard when she's like this all day. I forget. I think you can do it on your own, I just think you always know what to do, that I should take care of other things. I love you.
Of course I burst into tears.
Thank you, I said. I'm so exhausted. Thank you. I love you.
Lola came back in the room. Mommy you guys scared me, she said. I was listening to you shouting and thinking My parents never act like this! Her eyes got narrow and her mouth open in surprise. You told Daddy to shut up, she said in an awed voice. He held her. I know, he said, no one else would ever tell me to shut up or I'd knock em! We all laughed. I'm sorry, I told her. I'm sorry, he told her.
That's OK, she said with a sigh. Everybody has those days.
*i have a green shirt with an orange on the front that says Can't Concentrate
48 minutes ago
