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“What’s the return policy on these things?” I ask Mom, who has taken a week off work to help me adjust to my new role as a 24-hour milkshake dispenser.
“It gets easier,” she says, not at all convincingly.
I haven’t showered in two days and have a feeling I won’t get ten minutes to myself until my dynamic duo is in daycare.
“Why didn’t you tell me how hard this would be?”
Mom scoffs and puts her hands on her hips. “Revisionist history much, darling daughter?”
“Fine. I just figured that since you were half my age when you had me that it would be twice as easy for me since I have life experience and a plan.”
Mom barks out a laugh and startles the baby that’s not fussing. “You and your plans. I have to admit, I’m disappointed your handsome chef hasn’t been in touch, though not surprised, the way you kicked him out.”
I push down the emotion that threatens to overcome me. No good having three babies crying. “Mom, he has a life to live, a career to rebuild, and taking care of my babies was not part ofhisplan. So … ,” I stop and wonder what his plan actually is now, if he was able to answer his burning questions during the second day of the Come Into Power seminar.
“Have you sent him pictures yet?” Mom asks.
I shake my head no and help Thing One latch onto my nipple. She’s not nursing as easily as her brother, who knew exactly what to do with my breast and has no problem eating himself into deep sleep.
They’re less than forty-eight hours old and I can already tell they have different personalities. Although I’ll never be able to prove it, I’m pretty confident my daughter was the kicker. She has the whole “pay attention to me” thing down pat already. While my sweet son seems content as long as his belly is full. I figure he was the one with the weird cravings.
As I stroke my daughter’s silky head, I think about Stirling and his on-stage admission that he wasn’t happy being a caregiver. I wonder if he’s figured out what role he wants to play in the second half of his life and how to convince him that even if he’s not taking care of my every need, I’d still love to have him in my life. In our lives.
“Hey, Mom,” I whisper.
She looks up from the baby she’s rocking in her arms.
“If you were me, what would you do about the whole Stirling thing?”
She sighs. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Maybe I’m overtired—for sure I’m overtired—and my tone betrays my frustration. “Mom, if you have something to say, just say it.”
“Darling daughter of mine, when was the last time you listened to my unsolicited advice?”
I grunt. “Rhetorical question.”
“Maybe. But I’m glad you’re asking now. I know you love him and that he loves you. Nothing could be more clear. You’re smart people. I don’t understand why you haven’t called him.”
“He hasn’t called me,” I interrupt.
“What are you, twelve?”
“I’m giving him space,” I argue.
“Why?”
“Because who I was three days ago is not the same person I am today. Three days ago I was just me. And now, this,” I point to both babies, “this is not what Stirling signed up for when he agreed to make me clam juice smoothies.”
“Maybe not, but that agreement was torn up the day he started juicing your clam.”
“Oh my god, Mom!”
She smiles. “Why did you push him away?”
“I set him free to pursue his life. He said he didn’t want to be a caregiver anymore.”
Mom stands and rocks my sleeping boy in her arms. “And you’ve always maintained that you never wanted to be tied down by anyone. But here you are, having chosen to be tethered to two small humans for the rest of your life. Explain that.”
