Page 27 of In The Game

He opens his eyes and I burst into tears. I’m flooded with pure love. All the warm fuzzies times a million. I’ve never felt complete until this moment. He is the love of my life.

I don’t know how much time passes while we observe each other with wide eyes. It could be a minute or an hour. I trace over his little pursed lips and stroke his round cheeks full of color. He blinks up at me when I touch his adorable little button nose. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Heather helps unwrap him from the swaddle and lays him on my bare chest. His warm skin is softer than…I don’t know. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt. He snuggles into me, and this bond we’ve formed strengthens by the minute. It’s deep and unconditional. He’s the most precious thing I’ve ever held in my arms. I will love this child with everything I have.

“You did so great today,” I whisper. “I know we just met, but I love you forever.”

TEN

Ican’t do this. Motherhood is so much harder than I ever imagined. How come all these Instagram moms make it seem so easy? They all have these clean minimalist houses, their babies are clothed in designer organic cotton in neutral colors. My laundry pile of secondhand clothing is overflowing, there’s seven dirty diapers stacked up on the dresser that I still haven’t had the energy to get up and throw away. I don’t want to walk into the kitchen because it’s a mess. There are bottles piled up in the sink. I’m always exhausted. I’m still bleeding and have a wrap on my stomach from the cesarean, and now that I’ve sent in the deposit for daycare, my bank account is almost empty. What kind of mother am I? How do those other women do it?

They have help.

They have partners and nannies and night nurses.

I have me. Every ounce of energy I have goes to Arthur, and it leaves nothing left in the tank for anything else. I’m running on fumes. I resent all these other moms that have help. With their stupid fucking smiles and bright, rested eyes. My eyes have dark circles under them. My smile is weak and forced. They all have a partner, someone to take care of them, but I’m the only one who can take care of Arthur. I’m the only person in the world this little boy has, and he’s counting on me. What if I can’t give him what he deserves?

It’s been five weeks since I’ve had more than two hours of solid sleep, so I’m a zombie. He cries all the time, and so do I. I’m isolated and depressed. I love him beyond what I knew love could be, but I wonder if I made a mistake keeping him. Another family could provide for him better. Maybe he would be happier. They say it’s colic, but what if he’s crying because of me?

I can’t think that way, though, I love my son. And even if it’s selfish, I could never leave him with anyone else. They may be able to give him more material things, like new organic cotton onesies and fancy Montessori toys, but no one will ever love Arthur like I do.

No one.

I am his mother, and I’ll continue to make whatever sacrifices I need to make for him. I have to try. The alternative isn’t an option. My hand covers his small warm belly as he sleeps next to me in the bassinet. I can’t let him be raised in the same environment I was. He deserves a clean room.Come on, clean up one thing, Ral. Pick up one goddamn thing for him.I start with the diapers and then the burp cloths. Then crack a window to get a fresh breeze in the room. It’s a lovely day outside. Blue skies and clouds like cotton candy.

I can do this.

One thing at a time, I tidy up the bedroom.

I’m already exhausted. I lie back in bed in time for him to wake up and to nurse him. I brush his tiny blonde hairs with my thumb. He’s so adorable. He’s worth everything.

After he finishes eating, I check my phone. While I burp him, I open the banking app again. It’s not like staring at the number will make it any bigger.

I go back to work next week, and the first two weeks of daycare are covered, but it will still be close. If my breastmilk runs out I’ll be in trouble, I’ll need to pump a few times a day at work if I’m to keep producing. Formula is expensive. I run my fingers through my hair as my mind circles with all the worst-case scenarios I can think of.Stop it.

Yes, money is tight, but I’ll get through it. I’ve only one more week of my maternity leave, so I should probably check in. Pulling out my phone, I contact my closest friend at Method Marketing: Annette in Human Resources.

Me: Hey! How’s your day going?

Annette: Hey you! It’s good. How are things?? How’s the colic? Did the doctor say if there was anything you could give him? All of Rob’s clients have been asking about you, they miss seeing your face.

Me: I’m good. ?? He’s still colicky but the doctors don’t have much of a solution. Getting him to sleep for two-hour chunks though, so that’s something. Tell everybody at work I say hi. I’ll see them next week. Hopefully Rob isn’t losing his mind too much.

Annette: I’m sorry you’re only getting 6 weeks. I know you’re not ready to come back, I wish it wasn’t like this. If it helps, I saw some paperwork come through last week to give you a pay increase.

Is she serious?

Me: Really? Why? I mean, I’ll take it, but I haven’t even been there that long!

Annette: Rob feels bad that you haven’t gotten a full maternity leave. He’s been so impressed with you. He probably wants to make sure you come back lol

Me: Of course I’ll be back! And thanks for letting me know, it made my day ??

Annette: But you didn’t hear it from me! Paperwork will be on your desk when you come back next week. Act surprised about the raise!

Me: What raise?

Annette: Perfect! Now get some rest and take care of yourself, girly!

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