Chapter 6
Peeking into the bedroom, I let the light from the hallway illuminate a sliver of Dalton’s room. His sandy brown hair is tousled, but he’s sleeping peacefully. Closing the door as quietly as I’d opened it, I pad down to the door to the room that Penny and Bea share—though most nights Bea ends up in the bassinet next to my bed anyway. Penny is zonked out, lying diagonally across her new big girl bed that my brother had helped me put together last week. She’d picked out her new sheets and comforter—rainbow dinosaurs, of course—and is sleeping better, finally.
I’m sleeping better finally, too, having gotten her out of my bed and into her own again.
Bea will wake in another couple hours for her middle of the night feed, but for now, I’m content to let her sleep in her crib. Maybe I can sneak a cool shower and wash off the sweat and grime from the day.
Sky Ridge, Washington has had record high temps this week, with no relief in sight, according to the meteorologist.
Stepping into the bathroom, I set the baby monitor on the bathroom sink, then turn the shower on, setting it to lukewarm. I strip, tossing my sweaty and wrinkled clothes in the laundry basket in the corner. It’s overflowing, but I’m too exhausted to care tonight. Laundry with three kids— how do newborns go through so many outfits in a day? —is never ending.
If there is a Hell, it’s comprised of nothing but mountains of tiny human laundry for eternity, I’m sure.
Standing in front of the mirror, I can’t help but critique all the ways my body has changed since I had Dalton. I have wide set hips and more junk in the trunk than I’d like. Thick thighs that are dimpled with cellulite when I sit, but with a little self-tanner they look soft and smooth. I smooth my hands over my ribcage and over my stomach, the ‘mom pooch’ I still have ever the bane of my existence. I trace one of the more noticeable stretch marks on the right side of my belly button. Penny had given that one to me and it had never gone away, along with the myriad of new ones I’d acquired while carrying Bea earlier this year. My breasts are normally fairly small, but breastfeeding has made them fuller and heavy. I sigh, closing my eyes.
I shake myself out of the funk, taking my clear rimmed glasses off and setting them on the counter next to the baby monitor. I step into the shower, letting the lukewarm water cool me from the heat of the day.
Ugh. What a day.
Some days are easy and I lull myself into a false sense of security that I can do this on my own… and other days, my kids are uncivilized heathens. Those days I usually cry myself to sleep, because dammit, this is hard .
I stare down at the simple white gold band that still sits on my left ring finger, the water dripping from my fingers. I took my engagement ring off two months ago, placing it in the jewelry box on my dresser, but I can’t bring myself to take off my wedding band. Not yet. It feels so final, like if I take it off, I have to admit that he’s gone. That he’s not going to walk through the front door, no matter how many times I wish for it to happen.