I wrung my hands together. I looked at the corner where Aubrey had rolled over for the first time on the colored mats that were nowhere to be found. I guess Shelly thought they didn’t fit in with the décor. I stared at the middle of the floor, where I’d spent more afternoons than I could count folding laundry while Aubrey lay on her back and tried to bite her toes. The laundry was gone; finally put away. Everything was how I’d always wanted it, but not at all right. For the past ten months I’d felt trapped in this house, and now it was all going away.
I curled up on the oversized couch, tucked my knees into my chest and cried.
Sunday, March 3, 9:30 A.M.
David barely spoke this morning, other than to tell me that a Realtor was coming to look at the house sometime this week. I couldn’t believe this was really happening. He said if we couldn’t find a place to rent for the right price, he’d have to ask his mom if we could stay with her for a few months.
He’d already put in résumés with marketing firms, but in the meantime, he said we were in what he called “money-saving mode.” I think that was code for “don’t spend another $8K on furniture, please.” What he didn’t seem to understand was that I was the one who would be staying home with Aubrey and his mom all day. He asked me if I wanted to go back to work and have Gloria watch the baby, and suddenly all I wanted to be was a stay-at-home mom.
For the past ten months I’d been complaining about how hard life was and not realizing how hard it could get.
I looked over to where Aubrey was sleeping peacefully on her back in her playpen. The last Motherhood Better Bootcamp call was tomorrow. I’d submitted my Home Challenge diary entry already.
Hi everyone,
I’d like to thank Emily for the amazing work her team did on my home. It’s cleaner and more organized that I’ve ever seen it. It’s how I always dreamed my house would look. The new Verdanza living room set is an absolute dream. My home looks incredible. The only thing I could ask for now is for great memories to be had in it.
Ashley Keller
I included Before and After photos, and everyone oohed and aahed in the comments. The difference really was striking, but it all felt so hollow. It was such a cruel twist of fate for me to finally have the house I wanted but to have to give it away in two weeks.
The one piece of good news was that I’d be flying out to Napa this week for the Motherhood Better Bootcamp Finale. Did I mention that I was going to be on TV? No? That’s because I only just found out. Emily posted in the portal early this morning that we’d be spending Thursday relaxing in outdoor hot tubs, being treated to massages, and getting a personalized makeover. But on Friday we’d be broadcasting live on The Emily Walker Show to announce the winner.
At this point, I’m not holding my breath. While I was conning my way into mom groups and working for phone sex companies, Janice Paulsen from Minnesota lost twenty-five pounds and raised $20,000 for a charity that matches foster children up with available families. Heather Logan has pumped over 300 ounces of breast milk for preemies, and Naomi Price knitted 150 quilts for moms on bed rest in her local maternity ward.
Tomorrow is my last La Lait meeting before my trip and I’ve decided to come clean. Before the general announcements, I’m going to stand up and apologize to everyone for misleading them and beg them to let me stay. I owe them the truth.
Having to give up the house is putting everything into perspective. I can’t live any more lies.
Monday, March 4, 10:30 A.M.
The last Motherhood Better Bootcamp video chat was this morning. Emily looked as chipper as ever wearing her new line of athletic gear: EW Move. She had on a white crushed-velvet tracksuit with her initials monogrammed over the chest.
“Is everyone ready for our Napa getaway tomorrow? I’ve been reading your wrap-up posts and can’t think of a group of moms more deserving.”
The wrap-up posts she was referring to were the 200-word personal reflection essays, due by tonight at midnight, that summarized what we’d learned from the bootcamp. I hadn’t submitted mine yet.
“Don’t forget to send yours in by tonight. No matter what happens on Friday, you’re all winners in my book,” Emily said, her hand dramatically placed over her heart.
Winners, right, I thought, bouncing a squirmy Aubrey on my lap. I tried to focus on the call but couldn’t stop thinking about the La Lait meeting in an hour.
What were they going to say? I pictured myself standing in the middle of the room being squirted aggressively with milk from all directions, straight from the nipples of the moms I’d offended. “Please, stop. I’m sorry!” I’d yell, trying to shield Aubrey from the sprays of milky anger.
Emily’s voice cut through my nightmare. “This week, I want you to reflect on everything you’ve learned because you’ll be sharing a few words live on my show. I can’t wait to see all of you on Wednesday night. My personal chef will be preparing all of our meals, and for Thursday I’ve also booked you head-to-toe makeovers!”
Everyone oohed giddily and clapped their hands. I managed a halfhearted smile. A month ago, the thought of a few days away, a haircut and a soak in a hot tub would have left me dizzy with glee, but between our impending move and the inevitable loss of my only friends, I couldn’t get excited.
“I’m just so proud of all of you. Hugs and kisses, ladies!” Emily said, blowing a kiss to her webcam.
When the chat screen closed, I shut my computer and carried Aubrey into her bedroom. I changed her diaper and put her into a pair of gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie. I looked down and realized we were wearing almost exactly the same outfit.
Half an hour later we were walking through the front doors of the community center. I held my breath as I pushed the La Lait meeting doors open. This was it. There was no turning back.
I inhaled deeply and walked through, trying to steady my nerves against the weight of the moment.
“Hi, every...” My voice trailed off as I froze against the sight in front of me.
All twenty moms, including Lola, Kristen and Nina, were standing under an enormous white construction-paper banner that read “Good luck, Ashley!”
Lola threw a handful of confetti in the air. “Surprise!”
Nina pulled a cord, sending a cascade of balloons from a net affixed to the ceiling. Aubrey squealed with delight.
Lola’s booming voice filled the room. “Ashley, we just wanted to send you off to the Motherhood Better Bootcamp knowing that we’re behind you one hundred percent. We love you!”
With that, all of the moms rushed forward and surrounded me, hugging me from all sides. I felt a warm bubble of emotion rise from the pit of my stomach and get lodged in my throat. My eyes filled with tears, and as they streamed down my face, I actually, genuinely, wholeheartedly laughed.
“I can’t... I can’t believe this!” I sputtered. Nina wrapped me in a bear hug, the twins strapped to her chest. “No matter what happens in Napa, remember that you’re already a great mom.” A fresh batch of tears ran down my cheeks.
I turned every which way, hugging the women around me. I’d never felt so supported in my entire life. Every mom had different words of encouragement for me, but they all were in the same thread: “You’re amazing just the way you are.” That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.
After ten or so minutes everything settled down and we were sitting and lying on the giant rug surrounded by pillows and toddling, squirming babies. Every few minutes a different mom would pop up and hug me, wishing me well on my trip.
The meeting flew by. I looked at my phone. I’d almost forgotten that I hadn’t done the only thing I’d intended to do. There were only ten minutes left. I wrung my hands together and watched Aubrey crawl her way over to Donovan and tap him gently on the head as if to say, “Hello friend!” They both dissolved into delicious baby giggles.<
br />
It wasn’t the right time. I couldn’t. My confession would have to wait until I returned from the bootcamp finale.
Wednesday, March 6, 6 A.M.
The morning hadn’t been an easy one. Since Aubrey was born I’d dreamt of taking even just one night off, but putting her down last night was next to impossible, as I couldn’t stop hugging her. I knew I’d only be gone two and a half days, but if you were to peek in on me, both arms tight around her pajamaed body, rocking her in the glider in the dark room, tears rolling down my cheeks, you would have thought I was leaving for war. Tonight was going to be my first night away from her, ever.
I’d hardly been able to sleep, either. Even though I’d set multiple alarms on my phone and David’s phone, I woke up every half hour.
“You’re going to be great,” David said, cupping my face in his hands as the Town Car driver pushed my suitcase into the trunk. “And don’t forget to relax. Have some fun.”
He kissed my cheek and I turned toward the waiting car. Leave it to Emily Walker to arrange a fancy black car for a pickup. As I slipped inside and glided across the black leather interior, I felt like a movie star. I watched David disappear into the house.
People always complain about travel, but I found navigating through the bustling airport and a particularly grumpy TSA agent easier than grocery shopping with a tired baby. For the first time in forever, I only had myself to worry about. By the time I was seated in 4A, a window seat in first class, I felt like I’d spent the day at a spa.
I’d never flown first class before and was slightly embarrassed to board before everyone else. The main cabin was still empty as I, along with a few business people, made myself comfortable in a large, plush seat in the luxury section of the plane.
“Can I interest you in a beverage? Tea? Coffee? Wine?” the perky brunette flight attendant asked me.
“Coffee would be wonderful, thank you,” I said, trying to sound as gracious and unspoiled as possible.
“How do you take it?”
It took everything inside me not to say “Cold, and with a baby on my hip.”
“Sugar and cream would be fantastic. Thank you very much.”
A few minutes later, a piping-hot mug of caramel-colored coffee was placed on my tray, alongside a glass plate with a warm blueberry muffin.
“They’re freshly baked,” the flight attendant said, winking at me.
I was speechless. Coffee and a muffin? And I didn’t have to share it with anyone? I was on cloud nine.
The main cabin began filling up as passengers shuffled past first class and into the main section. Suddenly, I felt self-conscious of not only my priority seating but the continental breakfast in front of me. I noticed a few people struggling to make their way through the narrow aisle steal judge-y glances at me, and I wanted to say, “I’m not rich! I usually eat stale cereal off my daughter’s high chair for breakfast in stained yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt!”
The familiar sound of a fussing baby caught my ear and I saw a young woman juggling an infant car seat, diaper bag and carry-on bag, while wearing a baby who could be no more than six months old in a wrap.
A pang of sympathy shot through my chest. The look in her eyes was a familiar one: a mix of defeat, frustration and determination. Our eyes met and I smiled empathetically. I’d been there. The diaper bag strap slid down her arm into the crook of her elbow.
“Let me help you with that,” I said, standing. I slid the strap back to its rightful location. “I have a baby, too. Hang in there.”
She smiled appreciatively at me. “Thank you. It’s been one of those mornings.”
She continued making her way back, stopping in the first row of economy seats, just behind me. I watched in awe as she pushed her carry-on into the overhead compartment and placed her belongings in her seats, all while bouncing her increasingly upset baby in the wrap. As she took care of business, I noticed an older man behind her get fussy over the hold-up in the line. My blood began to boil. What happened to common courtesy? Instead of tapping his foot, he could be helping her!
I stood up in my seat again. “Can I help you with anything?”
She blew a strand of hair out of her face and tilted her head gratefully in my direction. “I’m okay. But thank you. Again. You’re very kind,” she said, shooting a glare at the gentleman who was now twitching with impatience.
Finally, she slid into her seat and unwrapped her baby from her chest. The pajama-clad infant let out a shriek of discomfort over being removed from his cozy cocoon.
“Shhh, shhhh...you’re okay,” she cooed.
Ten minutes later, everyone was in their seats and the emergency landing routine had just wrapped up.
A voice over the intercom said, “Hello, everyone, I’m your captain, Jack Ross. Thank you for flying Air United today. Our flight time is approximately three hours and twenty minutes.”
I’m not sure when I dozed off, but the next thing I heard were the sounds of a baby in full meltdown mode. I awoke with a start, and for a moment, I forgot I was on a plane and had the urge to run upstairs and collect Aubrey from her nap.
The sound was coming from behind me and was slightly muffled by the closed First Class curtain. I pulled it to the side and peeked through. The young mom was frantically trying to comfort her baby, who was strapped into his car seat in the seat beside her.
“Oh, great!” I heard a woman’s voice from the middle of the plane exclaim.
The mother’s face said it all. She was mortified.
“Can I help you with anything?” I whispered to her.
“No... I’m so sorry about the noise. He’s just tired.”
“No need to be sorry,” I said softly. “Babies cry.”
A female flight attendant with a tight bun crouched beside the mother. “Ma’am, we’re getting some complaints from other passengers. Is there anything you can do to calm your little one down?”
It was like someone slapped me in the face. Was she serious?
“I’m doing my best...” I heard the mother’s voice crack. “I’ll feed him.”
I slid back into my seat, feeling utterly devastated for her.
The next thing I knew, the same older gentleman from before who was sitting in the aisle across from the young mother was roaring, “You’ve got to be kidding me! Now you’re going to flash us?”
I heard the mom’s feeble voice, “I’m feeding my baby...”
I peeked through the curtain again to see the baby happily nursing, the mother’s tank top slightly lifted to make room for his head. Her eyes were full of tears.
It was like someone lit a match under me. I stood up and whipped the curtain open. I leaned over my seat.
“HEY, YOU!” I heard myself say. “SHUT UP! She’s a mother trying to take care of her baby. News flash: they cry. They need to eat. Moms need to take them places. We can’t stay home twenty-four hours a day to save your precious little ears and eyes from our HARD work raising the next generation. If you can’t handle it, maybe you should be the one to stay home.”
The man’s face turned red and he fumbled the newspaper in his hand. “I’m just asking for common decency!”
I stood and walked right up to the man who was now almost trembling. I pointed in his face. Something inside me had snapped.
“Why don’t you have the DECENCY to let this mother tend to her baby in peace! She’s doing an excellent job and shouldn’t have to put up with jackholes like you!”
I gestured to the rest of the plane. “Do any of you know how hard it is to be a mom? You’re supposed to be perfect and invisible at the same time! This mom is just trying to do her best and you’re making her feel like crap! Moms can’t win!”
I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the female flight attendant. “Ma’am, I’m going to ha
ve to ask you to take your seat.”
“I’ll sit down when I’m done!” I was on fire now. “Moms can’t win with any of you. If we work, we’re neglecting our children. If we stay home, we’re wasting our lives. If we don’t breastfeed, we’re failures. If we do, we need to do it in the dark, under a blanket, on a different planet so we don’t offend your fragile, weak sensitivities! Give a mother a freaking break!”
I felt a tap on my shoulder again. I turned around. “WHAT?” And was face to chest with what I had to assume was a human giant. He had to be seven feet tall. His voice was a deep baritone and he was cut, like, bodybuilder cut.
“Can I help you?” I said, indignantly.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to take your seat.”
I flipped my hair. “And just who are you, exactly?”
He pulled a badge out of his jacket pocket. “I’m a flight marshal.”
My body ran warm. “Oh. In that case, okay.”
I started to make my way back to my seat, but turned around and faced the plane one more time. “And the next person that bothers this woman is going to have to deal with me!”
The flight marshal gave me a look.
“I’m sitting down, sir.”
I took my seat and inhaled sharply, trying to steady my nerves. I looked at the mother whose mouth was hanging open. Tears were now streaming down her face. To my surprise, they were falling from mine, too.
Confessions of a Domestic Failure Page 21