Dear Aunt Edie,
Thank you very much for the savings bond and the lox platter for Sam’s bris. His penis seems to be healing very nicely. Next time I see you, can you remind me where you bought that tuna salad? It was delicious. Capers—brilliant!
Love,
Annie
To: Annie
From: Louise
OH MY GOD I MISSED THE BRIS! I am such an asshole! I am so sorry! Can you do it again, so I can see it? Just kidding. I wrote it on the calendar, but for next Tuesday. Will you forgive me? Attribute it to baby brain. Four days and counting, and they slice this be-yotch out of me. Can’t wait! (to be un-pregnant. I can wait for just about everything else. Except for the smell!!! New baby smell!!! You better at least be enjoying that.) Hopefully we can talk on the phone when I’m in the hospital. It’s the only time I’ll be away from Jupiter. She never lets me near my phone—either I’m on it, and she talks the entire time no matter how many conversations we’ve had about Mommy being important, too, or she’s on it playing games. (Don’t look at me like that. I see your smug superiority through my computer screen. Just you wait until you have a four-year-old!) Speaking of, I have to go, the battery’s about to die on my phone.
Wish me luck with my c-section!
C-ya later!
Lou
10 Days Old
Doogan the cat seems rather annoyed with Sam, and I can’t say I blame him. Every time Doogan and I try to get snuggly together on the bed, Sam bellows from his little co-sleeper and I have to move. Pretty soon Doogan will be so perturbed that he’ll stop snuggling with me altogether. How tragic. Seventeen years of snuggling instantly replaced by this pooping, screaming, squiggly creature. It reminds me of a song I listened to in junior high by Faith No More called “Zombie Eaters.” It’s sung from a baby’s perspective to his mother, and Mike Patton, the lead singer, teases the mom with lines like “Hey, look at me, lady, I’m just a little baby. You’re lucky to have me. I’m cute and sweet as candy.” I thought it was hilarious when I was a teen. Now I’m ready to cry at the relatable lines “But I really do nothing, Except kickin’ and fussin’.” Is this my penance for listening to music like that? I imagine Doogan’s half of this conversation, “Bloody hell,” because in my mind, Doogan has a British accent. “What is that scrawny thing? No fur, can’t even crawl to his food bowl, and he makes more noise than the neighbor’s schnauzer. I’ve got it in my right mind to climb into his bed and rest my giant, furry butt on his blotchy face. Lady and the Tramp was quite accurate, you know.”
Someone suggested I introduce the baby’s scent to Doogan to get him used to it, so I tucked Sam’s hospital hat into Doogan’s bed. The cat hasn’t gone near his bed since. Ironically, Doogan can’t seem to get enough of Sam’s bedroom rug, though. I’ve already tripped over him twice on my way to the changing table. So I put the hat into Sam’s baby book instead. It does have that delicious new-baby smell. I think I must inhale Sam’s head at least sixty times per day. Why does it smell so good? Is it an evolutionary tactic so that a mom, no matter how harried and confused and depressed she is, finds some inkling of comfort from snorting her baby’s skull?
Is it possible to form an addiction? Do they have support groups for baby head huffing? Is this the main reason Michelle Duggar wants to keep having babies? Because she has an addiction to the scent, and at some point it goes away and she can’t possibly live without it, so she submits to having sex with Jim Bob for the twelve millionth time just so that she will be able to sniff in that sweet baby goodness?
I think I just answered one of the most vital questions of our time.
FACEBOOK STATUS
I’m worried that I might erode a spot on Sam’s skull from sniffing his head so frequently.
11 Days Old
The doorbell rings while I’m putting Sam down for a nap. When I eventually open the front door, I find several garbage bags filled with gifts from my colleagues at Parker Middle School. I can’t believe how much they bought for him—clothes, bottles, toys. There are hundreds of dollars in gift cards (enough for a plane ticket out of here—not that the thought crosses my mind). Strangest of all is a handmade blanket from the superscary math teacher with whom I try to avoid all interaction, particularly when he’s fired up about the union at our faculty meetings. A note with the blanket reads, “Congratulations on the sweet, new addition to your family. Enjoy the time you have at home. They grow up fast.” Did he knit the blanket?
I’m giddy with the generosity of my coworkers until I remember I have to write them all thank-you notes. I figure I have until the end of my maternity leave. Five months should be enough time, right?
Dear Parker friends,
Thank you so much for all of the amazing gifts for my baby Sam. It’s nice to see that all of the money I’ve contributed at faculty baby showers actually pays for some nice things. Keep up the good work, social committee!
See you in a few months,
Annie
12 Days Old
“We need to finish the thank-you notes,” I tell Zach over a tuna sandwich.
“Have we started them?” he asks.
“I have. You get to at least write thank-you notes to your people.”
“My people? I thought we don’t differentiate between my people and your people since we got married.”
“That’s money. We don’t differentiate between my money and your money. People is a different story. Your people are the ones who sent Sam a BB gun so he can jump on hunting practice at the ripe old age of two weeks.”
“Yeah, my uncle Roger really missed the mark on that one.”
“How do they not know you were a vegetarian for fifteen years?”
“They know, they just don’t care.”
“And what is that thing your aunt Jessa made?” I crumple up a sandwich wrapper and throw it in the trash, already overflowing with carry-out wrappers. “Can you take this out, please?”
“It’s a head cozy. Like a tea cozy for your head.” Zach stands up and ties the garbage bag into a knot.
“Isn’t that called a hat?” I ask.
“Not in my family.”
I jot down a list of people Zach needs to thank. The list is short, only five thank-you notes long. “You’re lucky your family is so small. I not only have my mom’s side and my dad’s side, but my mom’s mah-jongg friends use up an entire box of thank-you notes. Not to mention her knitting group, beading beauties, and Canasties.”
“Canasties?”
“The friends she plays canasta with. I always wonder, if a group of people go in together on a gift, can I write them the exact same thank-you note? Or are they going to think that’s tacky and lazy?”
“No one’s sitting around, comparing your thank-you notes, Annie. I don’t even think anyone expects thank-you notes after a baby’s born. I mean, you’re all crazy and forgetful with your baby brain, right? It’s an accepted excuse.”
“No way. My mom told me that the other night at mah-jongg several people asked if we received their gifts. They weren’t sure since they hadn’t gotten a thank-you note yet. We’re talking a week after the baby was born.”
“Your people are weird.”
“See. I have my people, and you have yours.”
“I’ll get on those notes as soon as I take out the garbage,” Zach promises.
Mom’s Friend Thank-You Note Template
Dear [Insert mah-jongg, canasta, knitter, beader friend’s name here],
Thank you so much for the _________. Sam loves it and [circle one]
Wears it
Plays with it
Sucks on it
Reads it
whenever I put it near him. It was so thoughtful of you. My mom is lucky to have a friend like you.
Sincerely,
Annie, Zach, and Sam
Half Hour Later
Zach has been outside with the garbage for a year. What the fuck? If he really doesn’t want to write thank-you notes, then he doesn’t
have to. In the meantime, I’ve changed a poopy diaper, watched Sam pee in his own face (and laughed just a bit), changed Sam’s clothes, changed my clothes due to residual pee trickle, unsuccessfully fed Sam, cried, successfully fed Sam, burped Sam, wiped two tons of spit-up off the carpet, changed Sam again because I hate the sour smell of spit-up, and put him back down to sleep.
Finally, Zach saunters in.
“Where the hell were you?” I blast him.
“Whoa!” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I was just talking to Gary next door. He was mowing the lawn.”
“How nice for you. If you didn’t want to write thank-you notes, you should have just told me.”
“Thank-you notes? I was talking to our neighbor.” Zach points toward the door, confused.
“And I was up to my eyeballs in bodily fluids.”
“Um, gross?”
“Just write the frakkin’ thank-you notes!” I scream.
“Okay. Okay. If it’s that big a deal to you, I’ll do it. Do we have any cards?”
“Ugh!” I scream.
“Whatever. I’ll write them on toilet paper. Sheesh.” Zach slinks away.
I poise myself at the kitchen table with a stack of thank-you notes and a pen.
And then I fall asleep and wake up an hour later to the baby screaming over the monitor and the word dear printed backward on my forehead.
Dear [six different knitting friends—do not forget to duplicate],
Thank you very much for the Chicago Bears, Cubs, White Sox, Bulls, and Blackhawks mobile. We thought perhaps you would have made us a beautiful blanket with your combined powers of knitting, but a mobile about sports is very nice.
Yours truly, Annie, Zach, and Sam
13 Days Old
My brain goes to crazy places in the middle of the night.
Why does Chicago radio play so much Billy Joel?
Why does it feel like I’m on vacation every time I visit a new Walgreens?
Would Sam be better off with a saner mother?
To quell the voices, I’ve started turning on QVC while I’m nursing (and in between, and while I catch a few winks and continue to dream about television shopping). I realize in this day and age there is an infinite number of choices for TV in the middle of the night, but there’s something so warm and calming about QVC. Everyone is so damn nice. They want to better my life. Take, for instance, the name of the program I’m watching: Everyday Solutions. Every item in this show can help make my life easier. I have already purchased a set of encryption rubber stampers to wipe out the threat of identity theft, serrated knives, and a new set of pots. But buying things isn’t my favorite part. I am particularly enamored with the testimonial line. People call in to say how much they covet the products, and they’re so complimentary and kind, and the hosts are so encouraging and enthusiastic. If everyone were as loving to each other as they are on QVC, there would be no war.
Ooh! An olive tree!
Daytime
Mom came over today to drop off some more gifts from her friends. I’ve heard her kvetching about forking over money for all of the obligatory baby and wedding shower gifts, not to mention the bar and bas mitzvahs, and finally I am the one to reap the rewards. If only those rewards didn’t come guilt infused with promises of thank-you notes.
My mom and her friends are single-handedly allowing the United States Postal Service to remain open on Saturdays. That reminds me: I need to buy stamps. Now there is a great idea for a new baby gift.
14 Days Old
My friend Louise just had her baby. She went through a shitload of fertility testing, had two miscarriages, and suffered through an entire pregnancy’s worth of shots for her four-year-old daughter, Jupiter. I felt horribly guilty that it took me and Zach only three months of trying to get pregnant with Sam. So many people I know have gone through fertility issues. My older sister, Nora, has been trying for three years to get pregnant. She’s had two miscarriages so far, plus one pregnancy that looked successful but ended at eighteen weeks owing to complications from chromosomal abnormalities. She still hasn’t completely recovered from that one. I was terrified to tell her about my pregnancy with Sam. Zach and I found out I was pregnant right before Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and we were overjoyed until we realized we’d have to break the news to Nora and her husband, Eddie. Would she hate me? Scream in my face? Grit her teeth, then curse me out to our mom every chance she got?
Zach and I planned to make the announcement to our families at Rosh Hashanah dinner. It was Mom’s night to host; she has three sisters who rotate hosting gigs for every holiday: Rosh Hashanah, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, and Passover. Zach’s moms flew in that year for Rosh Hashanah, a rarity since we usually fly out to Seattle for Christmas. But Dawn and Mimi were readying to take a monthlong cruise along the Amazon, and they wanted to try the new-to-them experience of Jewish New Year. It felt like the perfect time to share the big baby news, but I didn’t want to surprise Nora with anything in front of a group of people. I called her that morning.
“Nora, I have to tell you something, but I don’t want you to be upset.”
“Then chances are I will be,” she guessed.
“Don’t say that! I already feel bad as it is.”
“As long as you feel bad, then that should make up for how bad I’m about to feel.”
“Nora! You are not making what I’m about to say any easier.”
“No, you are not making it any easier. You could have just started with, ‘I have something to tell you.’ You’re the one who added the caveat. Now everyone feels like shit, and you haven’t even said what you were going to say that supposedly was going to make me feel all bad.”
“Never mind,” I told her. My nerve had been lost in all of the back-and-forth.
“No, Annie, you can tell me. I promise I won’t feel bad.”
“You promise?” I double-checked.
“Unless you killed my cat. Or Mom. Did you kill Mom?”
“Yes. I killed Mom. And Dad, too.”
“Good for you. I mean, not about Mom, but Dad was a solid choice.” Nora still hasn’t gotten over Dad leaving Mom for his dental hygienist when we were in high school. “See! We’ve moved on to patricide. What you have to tell me surely can’t be as bad as that.”
“What if it is?” I stalled.
“Jesus Christ, Annie, just tell me you’re pregnant and get it over with!” Nora demanded.
“What? How did you know?” I was both mortified and relieved that she figured it out.
“What else would you be babbling about for twenty minutes? You never do anything wrong, so I figured this is the one thing you thought would upset me. Plus, Mom already told me.”
“She knows? How?”
“You went shopping together last week, and she caught you flipping through a maternity rack on the way to the bathroom.”
“Damn her.”
“Almost motivation to kill her, huh?”
“Ha ha. So are you mad?”
“How can I be mad? You wanted to be pregnant, and you’re pregnant. Now, if you were all, ‘Shit! I’m pregnant, and I don’t know what to do with this horrid thing growing inside me,’ then I’d probably be mad. But I’m happy one of us can be having a baby. Then when I get my baby business figured out, we’ll have some cousins.”
“Phew,” I sighed.
“I’m really happy for you, Annie. Just…” She paused. “Don’t go around telling everyone just yet. Not until you’re really in the clear. I know how awful it feels to tell people you’re pregnant and then to have to tell them you’re not pregnant anymore, without actually having a baby.”
“Okay. I won’t. But I’m going to tell Mom, seeing as she already knows.”
“She started knitting you a blanket,” Nora divulged.
“You’re kidding. I thought she was all Jewish superstitious, don’t buy anything for the baby until the doctor slaps it on its ass.”
“It’ll take her longer than nine months
to knit it. And doctors don’t really slap babies on the ass. At least I read that they don’t in one of my baby books.”
I swallowed at the thought of Nora and her stack of baby books, worn from rereading over a period of years. “You’re going to call me soon with the same news, Nora. I know it. It’s going to happen. Kissing cousins and everything.”
“Can they just be hugging cousins?”
“For sure.” I laughed. “I wish I could hug you right now,” I said.
“You can hug me tonight at Rosh Hashanah dinner. Are you bringing your famous yum-yum cake?”
“I made two of them, so there will be leftovers.”
“That’s my sis.”
Nora and I hung up, and a wave of relief washed over me. Zach and I agreed to tell our families once we made it to twelve weeks and the midwife gave us the all-clear. I did confirm with my mom that I was pregnant, and she subtly spent the rest of the night pushing extra turkey on me. “Protein is good for you.” She smiled, winking.
I had hoped Nora would soon be able to make a similar announcement, but as yet she and Eddie are still trying. If ever I pray for anything, it will be that Nora gets her chance to be a mom, too.
Afternoon
I speak with Louise for a few minutes in between the doctors prodding her postpartum belly at the hospital. Sam rests on my lap.
“I’m totally flashing back to the big squeeze two weeks ago,” I tell her.
“The big squeeze?”
“That’s what I call the pushing out of the baby.”
“Oh. I guess you could call mine the big pluck.” Louise refers to her C-section.
“Like a fine violin,” I assure her. “How’s it going?”
“Okay, I guess. I’m a little out of it. She’s cute, I think. She looks like every other baby, really. For all I know, they gave me the wrong one.”
I laugh. “Does everyone keep telling you you did a good job? Every doctor that visited me in the hospital said something like ‘I heard you did great.’ Was that just for me? Like, I was so awesome at screaming and swearing and punching my husband’s arms that word was traveling around the birthing floor? I didn’t get it.”
Maternity Leave (9781466871533) Page 4