Baby on Board (Single Wide Female & Family #2)

by Lillianna Blake

  “Max.” I put my hand over his to prevent him from swinging the hammer again. “I really think we need to talk about this.”

  “Okay. What’s there to talk about? I want her to be happy and have everything she wants.” He looked into my eyes. “What could be wrong with that?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it exactly. I know that it comes from your heart. But having everything that you want isn’t what makes you happy. Is it? It’s just stuff.” I shrugged. “Do we really want to teach her that having things is what makes you happy in life? What if I never sell another book? What if there isn’t another book tour? Sure, we have a good amount of money right now, but there’s no guarantee that my income is going to last. I think we need to consider what we’ll do if it doesn’t.”

  “Sammy, I thought you wanted to think positive about everything?” He frowned and set down the hammer. “What’s it going to be? Living in the moment or worrying about the future?”

  “I’m not worried. I just don’t want her to get used to a certain lifestyle that we may not always be able to provide. I think we should be reasonable about what we give her. You and I didn’t have a lot of toys when we were little, and we did just fine. Honestly, it helped my imagination to grow, to have to turn objects around the house into toys, instead of ripping into a new package every day.”

  “I see what you’re saying, but I just don’t know if I agree. I don’t think buying some toys and a playhouse is going overboard.”

  “Think about it, Max. What other six-month-old has a playhouse?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, then cringed. “Yes, I guess you’re right about that. But it’s here now. I’ll try to think about any new purchases I make.”

  “That’s all I ask.” I kissed his cheek and went back into the house.

  I settled Abby into her crib, then returned to the bathroom to drain the tub and clean up.

  As I worked, I realized that I needed more of that down-to-earth thinking. I needed my writing bug back. I needed to get my head back in the game, even if that meant separating from Abby just a little.

  Lately, whenever I sat down in front of my computer, I didn’t feel the thrill that I used to. I didn’t feel the sensation of belonging right there in front of the monitor.

  I felt subtle tugs from all directions. Laundry needed to be done, dinner needed to be made. Was Abby really asleep or just staring at the ceiling feeling bored?

  I sighed and wiped a hand across my face. Who knew parenthood would come with so many distractions?

  I took a deep breath and tried to focus only on the moment. After many attempts at meditation, I managed to get into what I considered to be a semi-trance state. It allowed me to type, but also kept my attention active enough to hear Abby if she needed me.

  Maybe a blog post would help me get into my writer mindset instead of the mommy mindset.

  As I began to type, though, I found that was harder to accomplish than I’d hoped.

  I’m trying to focus on the moment. I’ve had so many beautiful moments lately—like Abby’s first smile and when she rolled over and when she blew bubbles for the first time.

  “Oops.” I deleted those sentences and tried again.

  I’m finding a new dimension in my relationship. I thought I’d never lose sight of romance, but since the baby arrived…

  “There I go again.” I sighed. “I don’t think I can write a blog without mentioning the baby. Is that what I am now? A mommy blogger?” I frowned.

  I’d read plenty of great mommy blogs, but that wasn’t what I wanted my blog to be. My readers were mostly women who struggled with being single—with their body image and self-esteem. They didn’t want to hear about how perfect my life was. They needed the truth.

  I began to type, not what I thought I was supposed to say, but the truth about what I really had to say.

  Chapter 11

  Once I started to type, I realized that I’d been holding back more than I’d realized.

  I wrote about the parts of me that seemed to be missing—the sensual parts, the creative parts, the parts that preferred a hot cup of coffee or a half a bottle of wine. The part of me that could write a blog post without mentioning breast milk seemed to be gone forever.

  As I came to the end of the post, though, I acknowledged my happiness and wondered if any of my readers ever struggled with balancing the multiple faces that many women had to put on each day.

  Now that I was a mother, I could understand all the new faces that I had to put on—the face of a good mother, even when I felt as if I had no idea what I was doing—the face of a professional writer, even when I was exhausted from being up all night with the baby—the face of a passionate wife, even when the last thing on my mind was sex.

  It wasn’t easy to anticipate what would happen next in my life, and as Max had reminded me, I needed to focus on the moment. But that moment was indefinable.

  Who was I in that moment? Was I a writer, a mother, or a wife? Was there some kind of new version of me that could morph into all three things and become Super Sammy?

  Just the thought exhausted me.

  So who deserved my attention more?

  Writing was my income, so it needed my focus. Of course, the baby was the number one priority, so she needed my attention. Then there was Max—the man I jumped through hoops for, that I’d pined for, that had transformed my life with his love and companionship. How could he be last on the list?

  As I published the newest post on my blog, I rolled the question around in my mind. The monitor turned off to preserve power and I noticed my own reflection. It struck me that I hadn’t even made the list.

  When did I get my own attention?

  I was sure there had to be a way to balance everything but I’d yet to stumble across it. Maybe that was because I hadn’t been looking in the right places. Mommy and Me wasn’t really what I wanted. I wanted to be me again.

  As I did a little searching I came across a local group that met the next night.

  Tired of being Mommy? Sick of being Wifey? What about you? If you feel this way, we have a club for you. Join a group of like-minded women, who haven’t let motherhood rob them of their freedom.

  “Rob them of their freedom?” I repeated the description and shook my head. “It seems a little militant to me.”

  “Sammy! Do you want me to hang your nursing bras or put them in the dryer?”

  I opened my mouth to reply and then shuddered. That was the exact kind of question that reminded me of my new position in life.

  I added the time and address of the meeting to my phone and decided I would check it out. It couldn’t hurt to get some new views of motherhood, and I definitely needed to get out of the house a little more.

  “I’ll take care of it, Max.” I joined him in the laundry room.

  When I ran my fingertips along his back, he smiled and turned toward me. “Are you ready for tonight? I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  “Oh, no. Sorry, I’m a little worn out right now.”

  “Oh, okay. Want me to give you a massage?”

  I shuddered as I recalled what had happened at the Mommy and Me massage group.

  “I think I’ll skip it tonight. What I really want is a bowl of ice cream and some good music.”

  “Okay, I can take care of both.” He pulled me close and kissed me—only it wasn’t a light see-you-in-a-minute kiss, or a loving I-just-can’t-see-you-and-not-kiss-you kiss, it was a hard, passionate kiss that knocked me back against the dryer.

  When I was able to come up for air I stared at him. “What was that for?”

  “Inspiration?” He smiled. “Did it work?”

  “Nope, still worn out.”

  “Okay, can’t blame me for trying.”

  He left the laundry room and I proceeded to hang up giant nursing bras. I couldn’t help but feel a little bad for turning him down. But my body felt like mush, and all I really wanted to do was curl up and close my eyes for a l
ittle while.

  Still, the more I thought about it, the more I worried that Max might be hurt by my rejection.

  When I returned to the living room, he had my favorite music on and two bowls of ice cream ready for us.

  I sat down on the couch and patted my knee.

  He stretched out and rested his head on my lap, but he didn’t look up at me.

  “Are we okay, Max?” I brushed my fingertips back through his hair.

  “Of course we are. Why do you ask?”

  “I know I’m not as energetic as I used to be.”

  “Neither am I, sweetheart.” He caught my hand and brought it to his lips. As he kissed it, my heart fluttered.

  “I love you, Max.”

  “I love you too. Now eat your ice cream before it melts.”

  Chapter 12

  The next morning I woke up to the sound of Abby crying. I picked her up from her crib, changed her, and settled her in for a nursing session. Max stirred in his sleep but didn’t budge. It took a few minutes for my mind to surface from sleep.

  “How are you doing this morning, Abby?”

  She peered up at me, blinked, then closed her eyes.

  “Yes, I’m still sleepy too.” I yawned and thought about the night before.

  Max had told me that we were fine. I hoped that he was being honest.

  Once Abby was fed and burped, I carried her with me into the kitchen. After I threw a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, I scrambled some eggs in a pan, then went to put Abby down in her bouncer.

  She giggled as I fastened her in and turned the vibrations on.

  “Fun, huh?” I bounced her a little.

  She giggled some more.

  “Oh, you’re so cute.” I kissed her nose. “I can’t wait until you can talk and tell me what you’re thinking.”

  That comment reminded me that I wanted to check on when she should start talking. I’d heard some babbling from her, but I wasn’t sure that it was as much as she should be doing at her age. I sat down on the couch not far from her bouncer and began to search the Internet for the information.

  As I read through the results, I started to become alarmed. Apparently, some babies started with baby talk at only four months old. Abby was almost six months. Why wasn’t she talking? She’d started saying mama and dada, but did that really count?

  I searched delayed speech and found some horrific results. Was it possible she was hearing impaired and I didn’t know it? Could she be developmentally disabled? Did I miss out on some warning sign of a terrible illness?

  Never mind that most babies didn’t start talking until closer to a year old. All I saw was the horror stories and the embellished tales of infant overachievers.

  I didn’t put the phone down until the smoke alarm went off.

  “Fire!” I jumped up and grabbed Abby. She was still fastened in to the bouncer, so I just picked up the entire contraption. “Max! Fire!”

  “I can see that.” Max’s voice drifted from the kitchen. “It’s just smoke, don’t worry about it. Were you cooking eggs?”

  “Oh.” I gasped. “Yes, I was.”

  I set Abby back down and sniffed the air to make sure that she wouldn’t be breathing in smoke. Then I climbed on a chair in the kitchen to turn off the smoke alarm.

  Max looked up at me and shook his head. “You’re trying to do too much. I could have made breakfast.”

  “You were still sleeping.”

  “So what? You could have woken me up.”

  “I just made a mistake. I got distracted because Abby isn’t talking yet.”

  “What? Sure she is. She says mama, dada, and some other things I can’t quite understand.”

  “That’s just it, don’t you think we should be able to understand what she’s saying by now? Something’s wrong, Max.”

  “Sammy.” He took my hand as I climbed down from the chair. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong. We were just at the doctor, remember? He said she’s progressing right on time and there are no issues.”

  “I know, but what if he’s wrong? He barely looked at her.”

  “The appointment was a half hour long.”

  “Okay, but he still could have missed something. Maybe we should make another appointment.”

  “Sweetheart, try not to worry so much. She’s really doing fabulous. I think you need to worry less about what she’s not doing. Don’t look things up so much. All babies develop at their own pace.”

  “I guess you’re right.” I hugged him.

  “I think tonight will be good for you. You need some time away from baby world. I’m always going places, and you don’t get to go out as much as I do.”

  “But I could if I wanted to. I just hate leaving her.”

  “I know. It’s hard to be away from her, but it’s important to have your own space too.”

  “You’re right. Let me clean this up.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  Together we got the kitchen under control and settled for toast and yogurt for breakfast.

  While Max played with Abby, I tried to get some writing done.

  My mind kept shifting back to Abby. Were we talking to her enough? Did she have enough language exposure? Was it wrong for me to be so worried about her having a problem? Would I be able to accept it if she did? My head spun as I half-heartedly struck the keys on the keyboard.

  I nearly jumped for joy when I heard her start to cry to be fed a few hours later.

  “Hey, did you get some work done?” Max smiled at me.

  “Uh, some.” I plucked Abby from his arms.

  “Do you have a little writer’s block?”

  “I think so—maybe.”

  “Well, tonight might inspire you—get those creative juices flowing.”

  “Yes, maybe it will.” I smiled and tried not to feel guilty for spending most of my writing time researching speech pathology.

  “I’ll be back in a little while. I’m going to check on the computer I dropped off and then grab a few things from the store for me to munch on while I’m all alone tonight.”

  “You won’t be alone, Abby will be with you.” I smiled.

  “Yes, I know. But you said I’m not allowed to share my ice cream with her.”

  “Not just yet. We don’t want her to have sugar too early.”

  “I know, I know.” He smiled. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too.”

  Chapter 13

  Abby and I spent the afternoon practicing sounds and words. Most of the time she just stared at me. Sometimes she drooled.

  By the time Max returned, I was exhausted from repeating the same words over and over again, and Abby had barely gurgled.

  As soon as Max walked in, Abby grinned. “Dada!” She held her hands up to him.

  “Seriously?” I laughed. “I’ve been trying to get her to talk all afternoon.”

  “Abby!” He grinned as he scooped her up. “She’s like her daddy. She chooses her words carefully. Hm?” He kissed her cheek.

  “Or she just likes to prank her mommy.”

  “That too.” He kissed my cheek. “Ready for your big night out?”

  “I think so.”

  “You should probably change.”

  “Why?”

  He nodded to my shoulder, which was damp with baby drool.

  “Oh, right.” I smiled. “I guess I should.”

  After stressing over what to wear, I chose a casual t-shirt and jeans. I kissed Max and Abby goodbye, then started on my solo journey.

  In the parking lot, I texted Max three times to check on Abby. He texted back with pictures of the two of them doing tummy time together. I couldn’t help but miss them both. It took all of my strength to get out of the car and walk toward the building.

  The group was meeting in a classroom at the local community college. I felt a little silly as I approached. Was this really what I needed?

  When I stepped into the classroom I found several women had already a
rrived. The leader of the group approached me with a wave.

  “Welcome. Are you here for some oxygen?”

  “I’m sorry? I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Oh, sorry, that’s what we call this group—Coming Up for Air. It’s a place to breathe easy, free of our daily burdens.”

  “Oh, then in that case, I guess so. I’m Samantha.” I offered my hand and a smile.

  “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, Samantha. I’m June. Come. Join our circle.” She grinned and gestured to the circle of folding chairs.

  I smiled in return, despite the fact that the ominous setting made me think of a support group or recovery meeting. I sat down in a chair between two women.

  One seemed very anxious. She rubbed her hands together, tapped her feet, and rocked a little in her chair. The other was so still I thought she was sound asleep.

  June introduced me to the other women in the circle. I noticed that they all were quite different from one another. Some dressed nice, others wore casual clothes. Some had their hair styled, others wore it loose and long around their shoulders. Some were my age, some were much younger, and some were older.

  I felt excited to be around so many different women. I was sure I would be able to connect with at least a few of them.

  One of the women took a deep breath and then started to speak.

  “Since everyone is here I’d like to go ahead and start off the session with my rant. I am a talented actor—most of you know this. I’ve been in several plays and a few musicals. Before I had the baby, my husband assured me that doing so would not interfere with my career, but it has. Not only is that not true, but he acts like it doesn’t matter. He keeps telling me that I’m a mother now—that I need to focus on the baby, not my career. Sure, he makes enough money to support us, but that’s not the point. I love my job, and I don’t want to lose it. There’s nothing thrilling to me about changing diapers or burp rags. I know some women enjoy that, but not this one, and he knew that before we conceived. So why has he changed his mind?”

  “The thing you should ask yourself, Sandy, is—why are you allowing him to do that?” June wagged her finger. “You have to stand your ground. You didn’t have a baby, you both did. Now you need to remind him that your career is just as important as his. You can hire a nanny, work separate shifts, or place the baby in daycare when you’re ready. There’s no reason you have to give up everything that you worked so hard for.”