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[ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ] Laurel,” he said, still referring to me the way he did when I worked there. He studied my face and I realized I’d forgotten to paste on my smile that morning. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Your hormones will sort themselves out in good time.” I told him about my struggle to breast-feed. Every couple of hours, Maggie and I were locked in a battle that left both of us drained and at least one of us in tears. He was hesitant about suggesting I stop, but something in my demeanor tipped him over the edge. “The first two weeks were the most important,” he said. “And if it’s having a negative impact on how you feel about her and about yourself, I suggest you begin weaning her now.” I nodded, relieved. Things would be better, I thought. I wouldn’t dread feeding time. I would start to love her. But that didn’t happen. She took to the bottle more easily than she had my breast, but she still seemed uncomfortable in my arms, fussing no matter how I held her. I could quiet her by slipping my finger in her mouth, but as soon as she realized before the storm 159 there was no food coming from my fingertip, the crying started again. She was undeniably different with Jamie. She’d sleep on his shoulder or in the crook of his arm. I was both envious of her comfort with him and relieved that something could put an end to her crying. The night before Jamie returned to work, I begged him to take another week off. We were lying in bed together, keeping our voices low so we didn’t wake her even though she was a room away from us. “I can’t, Laurie,” he said. “It’s nearly high season and I’ve already taken too much time off.” “Please don’t leave me alone with her!” I sounded desper ate, which was exactly how I felt. “She’s your daughter, Laurie, not a rabid dog.” “You’re so much better with her than I am,” I said. “I know you haven’t felt well.” He raised himself up on an elbow and smoothed my hair back from my face. “Just walk with her a little. I don’t think you hold her enough. She wants to be held.” “She cries when I hold her.” “She picks up your tension.You just need to relax more with her.” “I used to be so good with babies,” I said. I’d read nearly every book on babies ever written and suddenly seemed to know nothing at all. “Dr. Pearson always relied on me to help when a mother brought in her infant.” Jamie smiled.“And you’ll be good with them again.You got off to a rough start with the hemorrhaging and everything. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” 160 diane chamberlain So Jamie went back to work, and I didn’t get better. I got worse. Having a baby had been a huge mistake, and only I seemed to know it. Sometimes I would look at Maggie—she could be screaming or sleeping, it didn’t matter—and I’d have to remind myself she was my child. I felt detached from her. She could have been a wedge of cheese or a frying pan for all the emotion I felt looking at her. I began to feel the same way about Jamie. I’d look at him and wonder how I’d ended up living on this sparsely populated island with a man for whom I felt nothing. The uncrowded quietness I’d relished living on the island suddenly felt like isolation. I realized I had very few friends nearby, and of those I did have, none were young mothers. I still had a few friends from college, but they lived in the city. The only one with a baby called to congratulate me on Maggie’s birth, but her enthusiastic gushing over her own little boy only served to let me know I wasn’t normal. I apologized to Maggie repeatedly. “You deserve a better mommy,” I’d say. “I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.” Marcus still offered to cook a few evenings a week, but as long as he was sober, I’d hand Maggie over to him instead and make dinner myself. Even Marcus was better with Maggie than I was. When Jamie came home from work, it was Maggie he rushed to see, not me, and that was fine. It gave me the chance to crawl back in bed with the covers over my head—my escape in the guise of a nap. One day during that first week alone with my daughter, I put her in the infant seat on the kitchen counter while I heated her bottle in a pan of water on the stove. Maggie was scream ing, her face red as a beet. I was keeping an eye on the water before the storm 161 when I suddenly pictured myself standing above Maggie with a knife in my hand, plunging it through her little pink-and white onesie into her tiny body. I yelped, backing away from the stove, pressing myself against the pantry door. I saw the knife block on the counter and quickly grabbed the entire block, carrying it down the hall [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ] |