Page 133 of Implode

I snuggle into the bed that cannot be the normal one they offer patients here. It is too soft and comfy. “I’m so tired,” I whisper, allowing my eyes to close.

“You rest, baby. I’ll watch over you while you sleep.”

* * *

My eyes open, and I can’t tell what time it is based on the darkness of the room with the blinds shut. Maybe I slept a week and didn’t realize it. I was that tired, so I would not be surprised if I did. I hear rustling from the side of the room and turn on the table lamp to see what is happening.

Nic is pacing the room and periodically doing weird stretches.

“What are you doing? Pilates? Some yoga?”

He turns his attention to me, and his smile lights up the room. My eyes scan down his body, and it is then that I notice the baby carrier strapped to him with a doll inside. “I am checking this contraption for quality and safety.”

“Don’t government agencies do things like that?”

“Yeah, I don’t trust those though.” He bends and then the doll slips right out and falls to the floor—headfirst. “Ahhh!” he gasps, grabs it, and holds it up to his face for comfort. “It’s okay, you are fine.”

“You’ve gone and lost your mind.” I can’t help but laugh. “You know that, right?”

“You can thank me later when I write a nasty letter to this company explaining that their product is faulty and unsafe. Should be recalled.”

I just shake my head and watch him take his notepad out and write a few things down. I notice the pile of baby products on the pullout sofa and giggle to myself as he goes through each one and “tests” it for his seal of approval.

“You know that even if a product is safe now, it can be recalled later. Defects happen, even to the best companies.”

Nic’s attention snaps to me, and he looks at me with adoration. “Exactly. This is why I will need to do my own testing periodically to ensure that everything is working properly.”

“I would expect nothing less,” I mumble under my breath.

“Did you know that only five percent of parents use car seats correctly?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Five percent, Claire. Think about it. That blows my mind. There’s all these rules too. No fluffy coat is to be worn. Rear facing up until a certain weight or height. Chest clip needs to be at armpit level. Oh, and you can’t add any extra fancy features post manufacturer production. Even certain laundry detergents can’t be used to wash the straps, as it could deteriorate the fabric. And—”

“Nic?”

He stops midstride, mindlessly burping a baby that is incapable of even sucking in air, and stares at me expectantly. “Yes?”

“You need to calm down. You are giving me anxiety.”

“Well, you know what gives me anxiety?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips.

“No, but I’m sure you are going to tell me.”

“Mommy blogs.”

“What? What are you doing on those?” I ask, sitting myself up a little more in my bed.

“Apparently being judgmental according to more than seventy percent of the people commenting on my post. Sheesh. You women are so hard to read on these online platforms. I can’t tell if someone is being serious or trolling me.”

“What did you post?” I ask, not really sure I even want to know.

“So, I went off on some safe sleep statistics I’ve been researching and then was factual in my post. Nope. I must have crossed some arbitrary line and then got shamed for it. I don’t think you women want facts. You just want to trust your”—he makes a face—“feelings. Like men don’t have instincts and are born brainless or something.”

“Oh boy.”

“Oh yes. But it was my vaccine post that really made a name for myself.”

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