9. Donna
My baby hates me.
That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it’s not entirely untrue either. When Aiden was born, he would curl up against me to nurse. He would wrap his tiny fist around my finger, and he would snuggle in, and when I finished, he’d usually go to sleep.
If he was upset, hungry, sad, scared, or tired, all he needed to calm down was his mother.
That’s what mothers do, they soothe their upset children. It’s our job.
It’s tiring. It’s exhausting. It’s sometimes even demoralizing, but mothers change diapers, we feed, we burp, and we comfort those babies from birth, so we know just how to make them better.
Except with Althea, I don’t have a clue.
I’m not sure whether it’s because she’s not my biological baby, or maybe it’s because she’s a girl? It could be that my husband is actually involved this time, so she splits her time with her dad. I’ve also been really sick with my pregnancy, and Beth stayed around and she keeps offering to help. Will’s mother comes over quite a bit as well. With four different people who all lend a hand, maybe she hasn’t really figured out who she can trust.
But she’s just as likely to cry when I hold her as when anyone else does. She’s just as likely to flail around, turn bright red, and slap at my face as she is to do it to anyone else. At six months old, it feels like my baby, my darling little Althea, doesn’t really like me at all.
Once she’s done eating, she shoves away from me rather forcefully, knocking the bottle to the floor. While I try to pick it up, she flails around trying to sit up. I twist and tug, trying to pull her against me, but with my huge belly, there’s not much place for her to go, and she wants to get away. She kicks out hard, her small feet slamming into my belly, and I almost drop her.
I know every pregnancy is different. Every baby is different. Every child is their own person, and they all have ideas and interests that we have to discover. Abby talks all the time about how each child is unique. I get that.
Even so, it’s not supposed to be like this.
I’ve thought that same thing over and over and over since we adopted her. Every single time I think it, I feel a little bit sick inside. What’s wrong with me, that I’m feeling this way about my little girl? I know she’s mine. I love her. I really, really do, and so do Will and Aiden.
Beth has been happy to see her grow and flourish. She’s not upset or angry in the slightest about her decision to give her up.
But things still feel. . .not quite right.
I want to shake the feeling, but I can’t quite rid myself of it. It might help if Althea would stop crying so much, but my pediatrician insists that it’s “just a baby thing,” so I muddle on. But today, today I realized that I’m only two weeks away from my due date with our surprise baby, and I’m about to have to spend a lot more time with the brand new infant, and Althea will probably stop loving me at all.
I might have had a little breakdown.
That’s when I realized who I needed to ask for help. She always has all the answers. Her kids love her to the moon and back. She’s the busiest person I know, so she must have some idea of how to make people love you even when they have limited time around you. Abby’s probably the only one who can help me, if I can just get up the nerve to confess that I’m a bad mom whose baby doesn’t even like her.
It took me most of the day, but I finally worked up the guts, drove to Abby’s. . .and she wasn’t there. I was on my way back home when Beth called and told me that Helen and Ethan’s house had bedbugs, but she checked her place and it’s fine.
I spared just a second to be happy that apparently Beth and Ethan aren’t sleeping over. Or at least, I hope that’s what that means. Surely she’ll be smarter this time around. I love Althea, but I don’t want round two.
That’s about when I started to panic about our house.
Forty minutes of web-searching later, and a lot of scratching, and I’m convinced I’m dealing with bedbugs, too. I pack up the baby and leave right as Will arrives. He agrees to stay home, meet Aiden’s bus, and summon some pest people to make sure we’re safe. I decide to just drive around until I can find Abby.
She’s basically my get out of jail free card, which is a little pathetic. I’m an adult for heaven’s sake, but ever since my first marriage fell apart, she’s basically solved every problem I’ve had. Ex husband? Toast. Custody battles? Destroyed. Not surrendering Aiden? Fixed. Problems with Will or in-laws, her advice was always spot on. She even handled the adoption.
With the new baby coming, with bedbugs threatening, I need my get out of jail card more than ever before.
It takes me several stops, but I do finally locate Abby, at Mandy’s. By then the baby’s squalling, which is pretty normal, and I need a moment to gather my thoughts. By the time I finally emerge from the family room, Abby and Amanda are talking to David, and Mandy’s putting crackers and cheese sticks on plates for an army of kids, including Beth and Ethan.
“What’s the vibe in here?” I ask. “It’s really strange, like someone just made a racist joke and no one knows how to respond.”
“Nothing racist,” Mandy says, but even she’s not meeting my eye.
This is beyond odd. “Okay, but?—”
The door opens, and Helen strides inside like she owns the place. It’s really the only way she enters any doorway. I swear, she was born to be queen of the world. “Well,” she says. “I just found out that I have an urgent meeting, so I better?—”
Only, my body chooses this moment of total chaos to cramp. . .and something about the intensity of this particular cramp makes my water break.
I swear loudly under my breath and grab the back of the sofa.
“Whoa,” Gabe says. “Mom said if I ever say that word again, she’s going to wash my mouth out with a bar of soap because it’s really, really rude.”
“I—” Another cramp rolls through me.
“I’ll be sure to let Donna’s mother know so she can decide how to deal with it,” Abigail says with laughing eyes.
Gabe hisses. “Mom.” His eyes are wide. “Her mom’s dead. You’re going to make her cry, and she already peed her pants.”
All I can do is laugh. Isn’t this just how things go around here? “I didn’t wet my pants. I’m about to have a baby, Gabe, and I don’t really feel ready, but I’m not about to cry, I promise.”
“Wait.” Gabe scrunches his nose. “When you have that baby, who’s going to take care of the other baby? The one that cries all the time?”
“We’re going to figure it out,” I say through gritted teeth. “But I need to head for the hospital right away.” There are some times when living so far from the nearest hospital is a real pain, and this is definitely one of them.
“I’ll call Will,” Abby says.
“And I’ll call Dad,” Ethan says. “I’m sure he’ll get things all set up for you.”
Will’s only fifteen minutes away, but with my water broken and the contractions starting, I’m nervous to wait for him to get here.
“I’ll take Althea,” Beth says. “You should probably go now, don’t you think?”
“I’ll take the munchkins home,” Ethan says. “Come on, guys.”
“But I haven’t even eaten my cheese stick,” Gabe says. “Plus, I want to ask Aunt Helen about the elephants.” His head swivels. “I know you said all this stuff is expensive, but I really want them.” His eyes are wide. “And you have a lot of stuff already. Way more than me.”
“Why would you want those?” Helen asks. “They’re even worse than the giraffe.”
“The giraffe is awesome too.” Gabe’s sigh is one of defeat after a long-fought battle. “But Mom said it’s too big for my room.”
“I’ll think about it,” Helen says.
Gabe shoves the entire cheese stick in his mouth, barely able to talk around it. “Fine.” He nods. “You do that.” He grabs a bag that looks pretty heavy and slings the straps up and over his shoulders.
“Dude, what’s in that bag?” Whitney asks. “You left your school bag at home.” She reaches for the top of the bag.
Gabe yanks it away. “Paws off, greedy. These are my old books. I brought them to read in case it gets boring again while the adults talk.”
“Old books?” Izzy asks. “The last time you had something old?—”
“I didn’t take these. They were being thrown out. Leave me alone.” Gabe’s face is all scrunched up, like he’s getting ready to bite her hand.
Abby hangs up the phone. “Alright, I told Will we’ll meet him there. Why don’t you come with me?” She points at my bag. “Is that for Althea? Or should I put it in my car?”
Helen bends over and grabs my purse before I can. “I’ll drive. My car’s way faster.”
“You said you have a meeting.” Abby frowns.
“This is more important,” Helen says. “I’m coming.”
Abby blinks, but doesn’t argue, and if she can get me there faster. . .
I’m climbing into the front seat of Helen’s sleek sports car when Will calls. “Baby time?” His voice is breathy, like he’s out jogging.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“I just met the bus—I have Aiden, and Mom’s on her way. I’ll go throw some things in a bag for you, and then once she’s here, I’ll head out.”
“Don’t forget to bring my toothbrush, my soft pajamas, and my slippers.” But then a contraction hits, and I groan. “I’ll text you with a list.”
“You have that stuff in a bag already. Don’t stress. I might even get there before you,” Will says.
“Helen’s driving,” I say. “I doubt it.”
I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. “That’s not a good idea. She’s not a safe driver.”
“Oh, stop,” I say. “She’s fast, but she’s safe. German engineering and all that.”
“I can’t believe you just said that,” Will says. “My Camaro?—”
“Alright,” Abby says from the back seat, her face leaned forward near my ear. “Domestic cars are the best, and I swear I’ll make sure Helen is as safe as anyone can be.”
“You be safe too, Mister Domestic-Cars-Rule. Your son will want to meet you, and it’ll help if you’re still in one piece.” I’m smiling when I hang up the phone. I wanted to ask Abby about Althea, but there’s no way I’m doing that with Helen-the-baby-hater in the car.
I breathe through yet another quick contraction—they seem awfully fast—and then my phone rings again. “Hey,” Beth says. “Do you have Thea’s paci?”
I rummage around and find it in my purse. It’s an effort not to swear again. “There’s a spare in the bottom of that green bin,” I say.
“But she doesn’t like those as well, right?” Beth asks.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “As soon as—” But another contraction hits, and I can’t keep talking.
“It’s totally fine,” Beth says. “Really. I just thought I’d check and make sure we knew where it was. I think Will’s mom has an extra one that she uses more. I’ll check with her.”
I’m a little defeated when I hang up.
“Are you alright?” Abby asks a few miles down the road. “You’ve seemed a little distracted the last few times we’ve talked. It could just be the new baby, but?—”
“Thea hates me.” As soon as I blurt it out, tears start to stream down my face. I’m not sure whether it’s desperation or embarrassment that I spilled in front of Helen.
Helen’s head whips toward me, her jaw dropping. “Isn’t that your baby’s name—Althea?”
“Helen,” Abby says.
“What?” She sounds indignant. “I might be wrong, but I think it is. It sounds like she’s saying her own baby hates her.”
“You’re an idiot sometimes.” Abby turns and drops a hand on my shoulder. “She does not hate you. Some babies fuss more than others. Ethan was like that, actually, but he was my first, so I thought all babies were constantly fussing.”
Now I’m swiveling around, trying to get a good look at her. “Ethan hated you?”
Abby laughs, which isn’t very reassuring. “Althea does not hate you, Donna.”
I sigh.
“I’m sure of it. I’ve watched her with you. She watches you like you’re an ice cream sundae.”
Which makes me bawl like a big old baby myself.
“I’m not kidding. She loves you—but I’m guessing she’s a hard baby, and the more help you bring in, the harder it is to see that she has a preference for you over anyone else.”
Which is what I was wondering already, but somehow, hearing her say it makes it feel legitimate. “She likes Will and his mom and Beth as much as she likes me. Maybe more.”
Abby’s arms wrap around me from behind and pull me back against the chair. “First of all, being a mother isn’t about being loved the most. But secondly, she does love you more than anyone else, and she always will. I can tell.”
Now Helen’s crying for some bizarre reason, but I can’t focus on that. I’m too busy dealing with yet another contraction.
“And do you love our mother more than anyone?” Helen’s swiping at her eyes as she careens down the road at seventy-five. “Really?”
Oh. This is about her baggage. I know Helen is Abby’s sister, but I swear, sometimes I wish she’d just move away. Having a real sister hanging around her makes me feel like I’m a tagalong.
“In some ways, yes, I love Mom the most,” Abby says. “But not many. I don’t love her more than you, for instance, or more than Steve. I definitely don’t love her more than the kids. She hasn’t earned it.” Abby’s voice is soft. “But Donna has.”
“How do you know that?” Helen asks. “Maybe she’s like Mom.”
I want to punch her, and I want to kiss her, because I have the same question, and I’m not sure I would have been brave enough to ask.
“Our mother cared about herself. Our mother cared about her career. Our mother cared about Dad. She cared about all those things more than she cared about us, and a really good mother cares about her children at least as much as those other things.” Abby sighs. “Probably more.” Abby pats my shoulder again. “You’re a good mother, Donna. I’ve been busy with little Nathan, and with being a newlywed, and I haven’t seen you around Althea as much as I might have otherwise, but I’ve seen you with Aiden, and I know you’re a phenomenal mother to him. You’re nothing like our mom was.”
Abby hasn’t told me anything or given me any advice, but strangely, it may be the one thing I really needed to hear—that I don’t need it. I’m not doing something wrong. I’m not a bad mom. The next contraction isn’t even that bad, not now that I feel a little better about my own competency.
“It’s hard to parent a newborn.” Abby sits back in her seat. “You’re tired. They’re tired. They’re small, and they can’t really communicate. They have stomach pain? A dirty diaper? They can’t tell you. They just cry, and on top of all that normal stuff, this time you’re pregnant, too. My kids are close together, but I was never pregnant while I tried to care for a newborn.”
“With Aiden, he quieted around me. He snuggled with me.”
“Some kids don’t like being squeezed,” Abby says. “Maren was like that, if I remember right. Amanda told me she’d always shove away. It wasn’t until Emery was born, a tiny, grabby koala, that Amanda realized that some kids like to sit on their mothers’ laps.”
She’s saying that if I don’t feel like I’m connected to Althea. . . “It’s not my fault?”
Abby laughs. “I’ve got five kids now, and the only thing I know for sure is that every single one is vastly different. They may share some qualities, but they’re probably different in more ways than they’re the same. When someone tells you that something is universally true with kids, be very, very dubious about whatever else they have to say.”
I grab the armrest and try to remain calm through yet another miserable contraction.
“How fast are these supposed to be coming?” Helen asks. “Because it feels like she’s contracting an awful lot.”
“Maybe drive a little faster,” Abbys says.
But of course, that’s when it starts to snow.