Halting me for a moment, I watch her take everything in around her. These moments, the ones like this, when she looks up at me, her small face recognizing and knowing me, this is what I had envisioned when I thought about becoming a mother, when I grew her in my belly. But these moments are fleeting, barely satisfying me anymore. I love Harlow more than anything, but I’m exhausted. I’m afraid and I feel alone. I’m tired of hiding my despair that I’m not a good mother, or that I’m going to fail her. Even if she does melt my heart, it doesn’t stop me from questioning. Am I enough? The hopelessness grows day by day, while an unrelenting force keeps pushing me down, lower, deeper and heavier and even on the days I want to fight it, I can’t.
“Hey, Low.” I smile awkwardly and stand there not understanding how irresolute I had become.
“She seems really hungry,” Z prompts, forcing me to bend at the waist, and pick her up from her crib. I keep myself in check, needing to get through the next twenty minutes. You can’t fuck this up when you’re her mother, I remind myself as I place her gently down on the matching oak change table and focus on changing her diaper.
Even this task puts me on edge. Nix has been the one who’s been hands on the last seven weeks. I barely know what to do. It’s not that I don’t want to know, but more I don’t know how to want to. If it weren’t for the fact I’ve been trying hard to hide that I’m failing miserably at this mother gig, I would have the sense to ask Nix how he’s coping. It’s not that I don’t care how he is feeling, somewhere deep down inside of me, a small piece is dealing with guilt. Guilt for not caring enough, or for not being happy enough, hell, for not wanting any part of it. I don’t know what is happening to me. Spending my days tired, angry and in tears has become my normal. Low is everything I asked for, everything I need. So why does it feel like I have made a mistake?
Holly and my mom voiced their reassurances, suggesting I was just tired. Baby blues is what they called it. But I can’t help fear the question I keep asking myself: what if it’s more? Was having Harlow a mistake? Did I rush into things when I wasn’t ready? The same apprehensions flow through me now just as they have done the past few weeks. I can’t pinpoint the moment I realized being a mother wasn’t what I was expecting. Yeah, I read the books, searched the forums, but nothing really prepares you for what’s to come. No one tells you that having a baby could make you feel so out of control, or lonely. That small, everyday tasks would become insurmountable hurdles. No one tells you, you will spend your days worrying if you’re doing everything right, and your nights crying when you fail. But the most heartbreaking thing of all is the numbness. No one told me about the numb feeling, or that it would be the most excruciating pain I would ever experience, even if some days I didn’t care.
Shaking my head clear of the thoughts I can’t afford to have, I carefully pick up Harlow and sit down in the rocking chair that Nix’s father, Red, made for us. When we came home from the hospital with Low, our chair was waiting for us. A note attached telling me Red refurbished the same chair that Nix’s mother nursed in.
No one has ever made me a chair before, and the small act of love Red showed me makes me want to sit in the chair every day. But what I love most about our chair, is the sense of peace it gives me. It’s as if I’m chasing peace every second of my day, but when I sit in my rocking chair, the same chair I knew Nix was rocked in, peace never evades me.
“You want to give me fifteen minutes Z, then she’s all yours?” I ask Z.
“Sure.” He smiles, touching his sister’s head once more. “I’ll watch some TV.” He walks out not waiting for my reply.
“You’re not going to give me a hard time are you, Low baby?” I ask, looking down at her as she tries to pull at a stray hair which has fallen from my messy bun. Lifting my shirt, I unclasp my bra and pray to the breastfeeding gods that by some miracle, Harlow has learned how to latch on properly. Resting back, I position her in my arms and before her small pink lips encircle my nipple, the tears begin to fall because I know what’s about to happen. I know for the next fifteen minutes, I’ll endure the pain of what feeding my child does to me. The stinging will begin as pain shoots through my breast and I won’t be able to control the sob that rips from my mouth. I know I will have to resist the need to pull her away, and vow to not feed her anymore. Then the guilt will come, guilt knowing I can’t do anything right. I’ll try to fight the discontent that weighs heavy on my shoulders. Try to keep the thoughts that this is what she brought into my life away as a small piece of hate eats away at my soul. I fight all these demons alone and broken.
Her small hand will reach up and touch my face, but I’ll miss it all, because even if it’s the most beautiful thing in the world, I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the pain and I can’t bear to look at my daughter.
I’m a terrible mother.
CHAPTER THREE
Nix
“Hey, boss man.” Jesse, my sergeant at arms, looks up from his position, bent over the pool table.
“Hey.” I nod, and walk straight to my office.
“What are you doing here?” he calls, but I’m so tightly wound up that I don’t stop to answer. Slamming the door shut, I plant my ass in my office chair and let out a shaky breath. Fuck, I shouldn’t have left her. My cell vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, ready to see Kadence’s name flash. Instead, Holly’s name comes up.