Chapter 20 Sasha
Sasha
Each morning when Sasha woke up to find herself in Angeni Luna’s house, she was disoriented.
What was she still doing here? She’d take in her surroundings, the baby next to her, the forest outside her window.
Each morning, she wondered if this would be the day she would finally talk to Angeni about Daphne.
But then the day would begin, and there would be new curiosities, new insights into this woman and her strange world, that would pull Sasha’s mind in new directions.
She’d created the Nurture Mother account page on a whim, another way to poke the bear that was Angeni Luna. She figured she could also use this little social experiment in her dissertation, which was taking shape in her head as she immersed herself in Angeni Luna’s cult of intensive mothering.
Constantly sacrificing yourself for your child isn’t showing your child love; it’s showing your child that women’s needs don’t matter.
That had been her first post, paired with a caption explaining how the goal of this account was to free women from the shackles of the pressures and expectations of intensive mothering.
The goal of this page is to assure you that your children can thrive without you completely sacrificing yourself to the cause of motherhood. We believe that self-care IS childcare.
She received a flurry of positive responses and understood more about the dopamine hit Angeni Luna felt on a daily basis.
Here’s to women having full lives. Motherhood is one slice of the pie. There are so many other slices
The fact that there’s no such thing as “intensive fatherhood” tells you all you need to know about what’s behind this mothering-as-everything BS
Trying to be the perfect mom is a futile pursuit. Leads to so many mental breakdowns. We need to embrace good enough
She’d been posting daily since that first post. On the day Angeni posted her tone-deaf response to the Cincinnati school shooting—god, this woman was an idiot—Sasha put up two posts:
You are not a bad mother if you send your children to school. Children need independence and space for growth. So do you.
The answer to gun violence in schools is not more homeschooling. The answer is more gun control.
The comments rolled in. She began accumulating followers at a faster pace.
She had more than ten thousand now. She kept thinking about Daphne, how she would have become one of the Angeni Luna mothers.
They would have had sisterly debates about it.
Sasha would have given anything to squabble with Daphne again.
She thought of Daphne constantly—upon waking and getting her bearings in the morning, at random moments throughout the day, before falling asleep at night.
When Angeni had made chili the other day, just the smell had made Sasha have to excuse herself to cry in her room.
All those bowls of chili Daphne had made for Sasha over the years.
She’d never properly thanked her sister.
She could not stop thinking about this—all the things she’d never get to say.
The other day, Angeni Luna had sent Sasha into town to get more cloth diapers from this little twee shop—because of course Angeni Luna insisted that only organic cotton touch her baby’s ass.
The washing of soiled diapers was a part-time job in itself.
It was becoming increasingly apparent that the child-rearing Angeni insisted upon, and advertised on social media, was an all-consuming venture.
There was no way Angeni would be able to write a book, or have a single coherent thought, if she did not have Sasha and the others to manage all the requisite tasks.
While getting the cloth diapers in town, Sasha had also picked up a case of formula because she was toying with the idea of giving Freya a bottle at night, coaxing her away from Angeni’s beloved boobs.
Sasha was so tired of Angeni waxing poetic about breastfeeding.
She was so tired of seeing the woman flaunt her bare breasts, offering them to the baby every five minutes, like See how much she needs me?
There was a haughtiness to her mothering that Sasha couldn’t stand.
Mothering didn’t need to be so precious.
Portraying it as Angeni Luna did would send a whole generation of women out of the workforce.
Still, the formula idea was mischievous and mean.
Sasha wasn’t sure about it yet, but she had the formula stashed in her closet, just in case.
The mere act of possessing it felt like vengeance.
She was finding that there were all kinds of small opportunities for retribution. Simply being on the land, fooling Angeni Luna on a daily basis, brought a bit of satisfaction. But what brought more satisfaction than anything was Erik coming to her bedroom door.
The nighttime routine went like this: Sasha lay in bed, usually scrolling Instagram, perusing the comments on Angeni’s page and her own Nurture Mother page.
She waited for the telltale sob from Freya down the hall.
It started off as a soft cry and began escalating in volume and intensity within just a minute or two.
Sasha would swing her legs over the side of the bed and put on the white silk robe Angeni had gifted her when she’d first arrived.
Sasha wasn’t sure if it was a thoughtful gesture, or a way for Angeni to request that Sasha please cover herself up when tending to her daughter at night.
It couldn’t have been a coincidence that Angeni had given her the robe, wrapped in pink tissue paper, after the first night Sasha had helped with the baby, appearing in the doorway of their family bedroom wearing her camisole and pajama shorts.
Sasha would walk down the hallway to the room Freya shared with her parents, the three of them together on their king-size mattress on the floor.
All three of them looked up at her when she appeared in the hallway, their eyes telling her different things: Freya’s eyes saying My friend is here, Angeni’s saying Save me, and Erik’s saying Save them.
Sasha would kneel down next to the mattress while Angeni fed Freya, topping her off so that she would be full enough for a few hours. Then Angeni would rest easy, knowing that if Freya cried, it would be for comfort and soothing—not hunger. Sasha’s job was to provide that comfort and soothing.
Freya was an efficient eater, done in just a few minutes. Angeni would then place the baby in Sasha’s arms with dramatized reluctance. Every night, Sasha would say, “I’ll bring her back in a few hours to eat,” an automated assurance. And every night, Angeni nodded without saying thank you.
When Sasha brought Freya back to her room, she’d take off her robe, and they’d get settled on a full-size mattress on the floor next to Sasha’s regular twin-size bed.
Angeni didn’t feel comfortable with Freya being in a bed a few feet off the ground—was too worried about her rolling off.
It was a fair concern, and Sasha didn’t mind the mattress on the floor. It was like their little nest together.
There were times when Freya fussed and cried, but mostly, she just fell asleep on Sasha’s chest. Still, Sasha could see why Angeni wanted the break.
It was hard to sleep with a baby, even when the baby was clearly peaceful and resting.
There was always the anticipation of upset, the anticipation of being suddenly needed.
Angeni had transferred the burden of that anticipation to Sasha.
The first night Erik came to her room, Sasha had been awakened by Freya kicking her legs and scrunching her face in obvious discomfort.
She was grunting more than crying, but it was clear she was not pleased.
Sasha guessed it was painful gas or a stubborn poop.
It was amazing how quickly she’d learned the baby’s facial expressions.
It was an ongoing project of decoding the smallest twitches of muscles, the tiniest shifts in mood.
She didn’t think she’d ever been this aware of or in sync with another human being before.
Sasha sat up and placed Freya on her back, then moved the baby’s legs as if she were riding a bicycle. She’d read online that this helped with tummy issues. Freya’s face shifted between unease and giddy excitement over this bicycling motion.
“Do you mind if I come in?”
Sasha looked up, startled. Erik was standing in her doorway. He was wearing the gray sweatpants he often wore, no shirt. Sasha felt herself blush as she looked at his bare chest, the geometric designs tattooed across it.
“Shit, you scared me,” she said. Then, “Sorry, no swear words, I know.”
It was one of Angeni’s rules—no cursing in front of Freya: I know they’re just words, but the inflection of them is so harsh. I don’t want her to absorb that.
Erik smiled. “Sorry to scare you. And you don’t have to apologize about the swear word.”
The way he said it made it clear he thought the rule was as dumb as Sasha did.
“You wanted to come in?” Sasha asked.
“I was just up. Couldn’t sleep. Peeked in. Can I help with her?”
He nodded toward Freya, who was still contorting her face.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Sasha said. “Gas, I think.”
He came into the room, and there was a palpable difference in the air when he did.
It was a first; he’d never before come into her room with her there.
She felt suddenly self-conscious about how much of her body was exposed—her nipples visible through her camisole, arms bare, pajama shorts covering little more than a pair of underwear would.
Her robe was across the room, and she didn’t want to walk over to retrieve it, so she wrapped a blanket around herself.