by Aja Cole
But all the comforting in the world doesn’t sooth me when I feel my baby slip out of me and I don’t hear a single thing after that.
No cry, no nothing, just the flurry of staff and medical terms that I can’t process right now as I wonder what’s wrong with my baby and why no one’s telling me anything.
34
“How could you scare Mama like that?” I talk softly to the tiny thing against my bare chest, careful of her wires. “I can’t believe you’re here right now.”
It’s Day 3 and Baby Smirf has already scared us half to death.
She was having more respiratory problems than expected, and after they confirmed that she was breathing, Jackson and I got to hold her for a few minutes before they whisked her off to the NICU. She hadn’t been getting enough oxygen and the only thing to do once Yvette saw how close I was and how soon I fully dilated, was to get her out and get her incubated. On my end, other than being shaken up, I didn’t need stitches and I obviously didn’t have time for any real pain medication. She was four pounds and five ounces at delivery, and as far as reasons for the being in the NICU goes, she’s looking good. Right now, they won’t be releasing her until she’s learned to breathe properly, her temperature is regulated and she’s feeding consistently. It could take as little as five more days or it could take weeks. She still doesn’t have a name because we haven’t decided on it yet, so her little sticker says “Baby Smirf” with Smirnov right next to it.
My baby shower is cancelled and will be more of a “Congratulations” party later on, but everyone will still drop off their gifts and cards at my parent’s house.
I’m being discharged today, and I’m not looking forward to going home without a baby so much earlier than expected. Jackson’s parents will still just come down for Thanksgiving since that’s in a week or so.
It’s just surreal, but everyone in the NICU has been so nice and warm and if my baby can’t be with us, then I’m glad that they’re the ones looking after her.
“You need to eat something.”
I can smell the lasagna that my mom brought over as he walks to the couch, but I don’t want it.
“Not hungry.”
“You think Aliya wants her mom passing out because she won’t look after herself?”
“Stop nagging me!” I snap. “Just give me some space, okay? Don’t you have anything better to do?”
Jackson doesn’t say anything, but he sets the bowl down on the table before he walks away.
I close my eyes, sinking deeper into the couch and feeling even worse. I know he didn’t deserve that, but I couldn’t stop the words and I do wish he’d stop nagging me so I can just feel guilty and wallow in peace, without him constantly reminding me how lovely he is against how shitty I feel.
Damn it.
I’ll wait until he comes back downstairs and then I’ll apologize.
But when he comes back down, he’s dressed and pulling on his leather jacket.
“Where are you going?”
“I found something better to do.” He says, but there’s no snark in his voice, just weariness. It makes my chest ache, knowing that it’s because of me. “You want space, I’m giving you some space. I’m gonna call Chris to come over so you’re not alone, no matter how much you’re acting like you want to be.”
I sit up straight, vehement, “Do not call Chris.”
Jackson pauses, before he picks up his keys from the table. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to see him. Do you need to ask so many questions?”
His face shuts down and he’s out the door before I can say anything else. Somewhere, I know I’m not being fair and it hurts and I don’t like it but…I feel like I’m drowning in emotions that I don’t know to handle. It’s been two weeks and the first week was okay, but this one…I’m pumping every three hours, I feel so empty without my baby inside me or in my arms and it feels like I’m alone because no one else shared a body with her.
Everyday, I wake up and anytime I smile or feel the slightest tickle of happiness, guilt follows on its heels because I’m home and my baby is still in the NICU.
I don’t want to go out, I don’t want to see anyone, I don’t want to do anything but be with my baby. Thanksgiving came and I met Jackson’s parents and my family spent it together, but I left early because I just couldn’t be around everyone. Jackson had a game so he wasn’t there, and he’s had games and gone to work and we spend hours at the hospital when we can. Sometimes both of us, sometimes just me, sometimes him.
I come home and I watch her on the NICU camera, just praying that she stays stable and growing and nothing happens that we don’t see coming. The first time I held her and felt her forget to breathe, it took everything in me to not panic. but they showed us how to tap her foot to kind of jolt her into remembering. I haven’t breastfed her at all, just pumping because she’s still using a feeding tube.
Mostly...the familiar shame of failing is constant.
Why couldn’t I carry her to full term? What if I’d done some things differently or eaten better or gotten more exercise? What if it was something I did that could’ve been avoided?
I couldn’t keep her safe and healthy. I can’t stop snapping and being angry at the man I love, who has done nothing but try to understand, not treating me nearly as badly as I’ve been dismissing him, and I feel out of control.
There’s nothing I can do to make her thrive, faster.
It feels like there’s nothing I can do to make this hurt any less.
When I wake up, it’s with drool wetting my cheek and the couch pillow, my boobs an aching reminder that I need to pump and a full bladder urging me to pee.
A glance outside tells me that I’m alone in the house, and I ignore the pang of disappointment, because if I were Jackson and I had to deal with me, I would disappear for a little bit too.
I use the restroom with only a little discomfort, spraying with warm water and gently patting myself dry when I’m done. I didn’t need the diapers, I’ve just been wearing Always Infinity pads, and I’m down to using the regular ones and not overnight now. Not carrying her as long probably helped me avoid more intensive healing, but I can’t even be happy about it.
I go through the motions of showering, getting dressed and pulling my hair into two French braids that will last me a few days. I want to get to the hospital as soon as possible, but first, I need to pump before my breasts fall off. I haven’t had any issues with my milk coming in, but they say it could change at any moment so I try to stay on a pumping schedule. The freezer already has a bunch of extra, because she’s not drinking as much.
It’s just nothing like I expected.
Laughing in the bathroom after waking up Jackson to go to the hospital seems like ages ago.
I’m halfway through pumping when Jackson comes in, holding a bag of food and a drink tray. He’s in different clothing, so he must’ve come back and hasn’t been gone too long. I’ve been setting an alarm to pump every three hours on the dot, but I let myself sleep last night.
Maybe that’s why my embarrassment is a lot stronger than my anger this morning.
“Good morning.”
Jackson watches me like you might look at a skittish animal, wary and unsure about how they’ll react.
“Morning. I brought some breakfast, but I can put it in the fridge if you don’t want it.”
“No, I’ll eat it now. Thank you.” I motion for him to come closer and he does, obliging me by leaning down for a quick peck on the lips before he sits down, taking food from the bag. There’s a little shop called the Daylight Bakery that makes perfect breakfast sandwiches, and he picked up bacon, egg and cheese for both of us, some fruit and ice coffee for me, with orange juice for him. I finish up my pumping and pop them in the fridge since I’ll take it with me when I go visit today.
We eat in relative silence, and I know there’s no way that Jackson is really interested in watching the LA event planning reality show that’s playing on
the screen.
“You leaving for the rink soon?”
He wipes his mouth, balling up the napkin and dropping it into the bag. “Maybe. I was gonna see if you minded me going with you today.”
“Why would I mind?” I shake the iced coffee cup, mixing the vanilla that’s settled at the bottom.
Jacks hesitates and I twist the cup in my hands. “It’s okay, be honest. I can handle it.”
“You’ve been a little...territorial. It doesn’t seem like you want me around if you’re with her.” He finally says, “I know I didn’t carry her or know about her as long as you...but this hurts me too. I hate seeing her hooked up to all that stuff, hate that she’s not home, hate seeing it affect you. Nothing about this in anything I can fix or make better for you. But I...” He trails off, linking his fingers together and looking straight ahead. “Sometimes it feels like there’s no room for me to feel sad or angry, because you feel it more.”
I roll his words around in my head for awhile, because I don’t want to say the wrong thing.
Then I set my drink down and crawl into his lap, surprising him, but he still wraps his arms around me in seconds when I hug mine around him.
I know what it’s like to feel dismissed and not seen or heard and I hate that I did that to him.
No matter how my hormones have me up and down lately, I love Jackson and I’m absolutely certain of that.
“I don’t know how to deal with all this.” I admit softly, deciding to speak from my heart. “I feel like I failed her and you, I’m constantly terrified that this just proved that Chris was right about me not being a good mom. But I never meant to make it feel like a competition of who feels shittier. You’re her dad, she wouldn’t be here without you as much as she wouldn’t be without me. I’m sorry that I haven’t made you feel supported the way you’ve been supporting me. That hasn’t been fair or very loving.”
“Well, first, there’s no world where you failed me or Aliya. And maybe we should start communicating a little more like this and doing this together, because it sounds like we’re feeling some of that same things.” He rumbles, resting his chin atop my head. “But what are you talking about, Chris not thinking you’d be a good mom?”
I resign myself to finally having to come clean about what was said on moving day. “Can we talk about it later? I’m anxious to see Baby Smirf and I know you are too. Chris can wait.”
35
“Why the frown?” Shayla nudges me, “If you’re worried about Jackson, the net is about the safest place for him.”
I laugh a little, watching the guys fly back and forth on the ice, Jackson posted at the goal.
“With the way that puck is flying?”
“True.” She dips her head, “I’m glad you came. We didn’t want to overwhelm you too much, but we’re all here if you need anything. Seriously.”
“I didn’t even realize I was frowning. Right now, I’m just trying not to be a bitchy girlfriend and waiting for them to let Aliya come home. She’s getting better everyday and…hell, I think I might be more nervous now that we might have her with us soon.”
“I was a preemie. My mom always said that she thought leaving me at the hospital was hard, but she was terrified taking me home because they didn’t want to break me or not know what they were doing.”
I look at her, surprised. “Yeah! That’s exactly it. I don’t want to mess up. I’m not a NICU nurse or a doctor, and they’ve been taking care of her for the last four weeks, not us.”
Shayla throws an arm around my waist, squeezing me in a short hug.“Well as a mom too, I know it’s scary, not knowing what can happen with your baby. But you said that she’s smashing all her milestones, and when they send her home, I’m sure it’ll be because they trust that she’s at a healthy enough point to do so.”
“I know you’re right. I’m probably gonna stress about it anyway. But thank you, I feel a little better and we can go back to hoping our guys don’t lose any teeth tonight.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“Hey, I remember something was up with you and Dylan when y’all came over. All good now? Wait, is that too nosy?” I ask quickly, wondering if I’ve overstepped.
“No such thing. If it’s not us gossiping, it’s the guys, believe me. It was nothing major though. I was annoyed that he brought home a puppy without floating it by me. I mean, we’d talked about it for the mini-me but we hadn’t confirmed it was happening. She is the cutest Samoyed puppy, but I just would’ve liked a heads up.”
“Sounds very reasonable. When I was uh, less stable, I didn’t talk to Jackson for almost two days because he unthawed the wrong casserole and wow, saying that out loud is so cringe.” I shudder.
“What’s cringe?” Whitney comes up beside us, sipping on a cocktail through a straw.
“My hormonal anger before I started handling things a little better.”
“Told you girl, they are the literal devil.” Somehow, Mina heard me from where she’s sitting a few feet away and responds without even turning around.
We don’t stop laughing for awhile, and I realize just how much I needed this time.
“Hey goalie!” I call out, leaning against the wall in the hallway outside the locker rooms. “Nice saves out there tonight.”
Jackson saunters over, a smirk on his lips. “Listen to you, sounding like you actually know what was going on.”
“Well, to be fair, the puck either goes in the net or it doesn’t so that part is simple. You stop it from going in. See? Perfect understanding.”
His eyes warm and he hooks an arm around my waist, dipping his head to kiss me like we’re alone instead of standing in a hallway. Not that I give a single damn, because I missed this. Missed feeling this light and relaxed.
“Yep, perfect.” He pulls back, setting me on my feet again. “You had a good time?”
I know that’s code for, how are are we doing on the anxiety tonight?
“I had a really good time,” I assure him, “But you know what I really want to do right now?”
“I’m listening.”
I lean up until my lips are at his ear, then I whisper it to him, pressing close. I have the pleasure of feeling his body tense, his fingers curling at my waist before I move away, raising an eyebrow.
“You don’t have to.” He says, but I can see the banked desire in his eyes.
“Believe me, I very much want to.”
Sex has been the last thing on our minds. First, I was all out of sorts and struggling to cope. After our talk, I aimed to not only communicate better with him and not see him as an outsider to my pain, but to open up in general.
I’m not an island, and even though I usually end up sharing what’s going on with me, I could save myself a lot of isolation by starting that way when I can.
Not only do I owe it to the people who love me to not suffer in silence…but I owe it to myself.
I’m healing up pretty quickly, but there’s still the matter of my cervix being like an open wound so I’m waiting to be cleared by Evelyn before we start back all the fun.
It’s not something we want to take a chance with.
My sexy, well-endowed, loving goalie has been so damn patient and hasn’t pressed a single thing because he doesn’t want me to feel like he’s angling for more, or torment both of us.
Aliya isn’t ready to come home yet, but I know and have faith that she will be and it’s not a process that we can rush. So, for the time being, I’m thinking we need to enjoy the rest of the time we have a baby-less house and focus a little less on wishing that would change.
“You better be lucky you didn’t get pulled over for speeding.”
He glances at me, turning onto our street. “I wasn’t speeding…I don’t think.”
“Babe, you damn near clipped the guy in the next lane.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t have been in the way. I’ve got a blowjob to get to.” He gives me a wolfish grin and I open my mouth to reply, but I notice the silver BMW in
the driveway before he does.
“Wonder what he wants,” I mutter, already throwing my guard walls up.
Chris is sitting on the front steps, and he stands when we turn into the driveway, parking next to his car.
A pained groan sounds from the other side of the car. “As much as I would love to tell him to get the hell on…you should hear him out.”
“What’s there to hear? It’s been weeks now. It’s old news.” I shrug, more bravado in my voice than I actually feel.
We both knows it’s bullshit.
Jackson grips my chin, firm but gentle, which ugh, I love. He pins me with serious hazel eyes. “It’s not old news when you and your brother haven’t spoken since. I’m not going anywhere. Talk to your brother, and we’ll pick up here when you’re done.” He speaks the last few words against my lips before he traces my bottom lip lightly with his tongue and delves into my mouth, not letting me go until he’s drawn a moan from me and I’m clutching at his Atlanta Outlaws sweatshirt, wishing we weren’t in the front seat.
“Will you do me a favor?” He asks, thumb stroking my cheek.
“Of course you ask after you’ve scrambled my brains.” I breathe. “What?”
“Will you listen, and don’t go on the defense? Be the open, vulnerable woman that I’m falling for more and more every day.”
I close my eyes, leaning into his touch, exhaling low.