Page 57 of Keeping His Babygirl

“He doesn’t want us to leave him. You’re just being selfish.”

“Stop it, Donna. The boy needs to sleep in his own bed just like his mother said.” He emphasizes the word mother, and I couldn’t love him more for it. He’s got my back against her assholery.

“But—” my mom starts.

My dad hushes her with a swipe of his hand. “Leave it.”

He practically shoves her out of the door. I collapse against it for a minute, exhausted. I take a deep breath, then pick up my still tantruming son and carry him to bed. It takes three books and promises of all the fun he’s going to have with his grandparents tomorrow to get him to finally go to sleep.

I take a shower letting the hot water wash away the negative emotions of the day. I feel more like myself when I get out. I dress in my pajamas and crawl into bed, then because I’m a glutton for punishment, I reread Axel’s texts. This time I don’t cry at his thoughtfulness. Instead, I feel bolstered by his words. He’s right. I am a good mom. I just need to remember that.

I moved because it was the right choice for Henry and me. That’s what matters. Nothing my mom says matters. She’s just lashing out because she’s hurt and feeling spiteful.

I wake up the following day to Henry jumping on my bed like usual. I pull him down under the covers with me and tickle his sides. He squeals and wriggles.

“Mommy!”

“I don’t know a mommy. I’m the tickle monster!”

He lets out another squeal as I double down on tickling him. His laughter is a balm to my wounded heart. We get out of bed and rush through our morning routine so we can meet my parents at the zoo for a day full of activities suited for Henry.

“There’s my boy!” my mom says as she takes him out of his car seat.

“Gramma!” Henry shrieks, probably blowing out her eardrum.

“Happy birthday, kiddo,” my dad says.

I had almost forgotten today was the day. I’m thirty-four years old. I should feel one way or another about it, but I’m indifferent. My life derailed three years ago; a birthday doesn’t seem so important after that.

“Thanks, dad.”

We follow behind my mom and Henry as he pulls her toward the entrance to the zoo. We’ve been here twice before, and he loves it. Especially the giraffes. Henry leads the way through the exhibits and keeps up a constant stream of babble about all the animals.

We stop at the café for lunch, and my mom gives me a harsh look when I tell Henry he can only have ice cream or cotton candy, not both. He stomps his foot and pouts, but I just shake my head.

“Just let him have the treat. It’s a special day,” she butts in.

“He doesn’t need so many sweets. He’s already going to be wired from one,” I tell her, not backing down.

“I’ll get it for him if you’re too cheap to.”

“It has nothing to do with money and everything to do with the fact that he doesn’t need it.”

“I want both!” Henry yells at the top of his lungs.

“Henry. That’s enough of that. If you don’t calm down, you won’t get any treats,” I scold.

My mom’s eyes widen, and she sputters. “You can’t talk to him like that! What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? He’s throwing a fit because you are arguing with me about it. He would’ve been more than happy with just ice cream or just the cotton candy. You had to stick your nose in and try to undermine me.” By the end of my tirade, I’m practically shouting.

My dad gives me an approving nod behind my mom’s back. My mom? Her face is bright red, and she looks like she’s going to blow a gasket. When Henry throws himself on the floor, kicking and screaming, I decide I’ve had enough. I pick my wailing son up off the floor and carry him to the car.

My mom follows hot on my heels. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home.”

“You can’t just take him away! We are supposed to go to the toy store…”

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