If only I could figure out how to keep the shower nozzle from falling off.
I take another sip of coffee and watch as the world starts to wake up. Speaking of waking up, my mind goes to Alex and his interview. Is it too early to shoot him off a good luck text? Just because I’m up and moving by six doesn’t mean he is. If anything, he might be sleeping in, enjoying his downtime. Or he could be fretting above the interview over a pot of coffee and a bagel.
It could go either way.
I offered for him to stay with me when he arrived the night before, but he had plans. Dinner. With Tate. Just thinking his name brings back memories of the last time I saw him. We were both naked and panting from doing dirty things in my brother’s guest bedroom. Things I’ve tried to forget but can’t. Not when my eyes are open, and most definitely not when they’re closed. If anything, nighttime makes the memories worse. They’re more vivid and consuming when the room is dark, and I’m alone in my bed.
But those recollections are always pushed away to the back of my mind. They have to be.
When my one and only cup of Joe is finished, I return to the kitchen. Last night’s soup bowl is still in the sink, along with a few other dirty dishes. I decide now is as good of a time as any to try to clean up the house. Mom was a huge help last week, but with her gone, I’ll admit, some of those pesky day-to-day chores have fallen by the wayside.
Including laundry.
Do I even have clean underwear?
Sighing, I fill up the sink with hot water and start washing. When they’re done, I make sure the counters and stovetop are wiped down, along with the microwave. After that, I head to the laundry room and throw in a load of baby clothes. Who knew babies went through so many onesies? Rowan has at least two diaper blowouts a day, resulting in scrubbing baby poop off his clothes, and often my own too.
When my chores are somewhat caught up and my eyelids start to droop, I make my way to the living room. I don’t bother with turning on the television. If it weren’t for my dad last week, that thing wouldn’t have been on in months. I’m not a TV watcher. I’ve always loved books, even as a child. Alex never understood it but in no way treated me as if I were different than him, despite the fact we’re about as night and day diverse as you can get.
Exhaustion takes hold, refusing to let go. There’s no way I can fight it. I let it pull me under.
“Wow, that’s nasty,” I say, gagging just a little as I open the diaper. Rowan’s mouth opens as he gets ready to let out a very unhappy wail. Diaper changes aren’t his thing. Dirty ones aren’t much of his thing either, so he’s a whole lot of cranky until his butt is clean and dry. Then, of course, comes food, which makes him even happier.
I make quick work at cleaning his bottom and making sure it’s dry before I slip on the fresh diaper. “Okay, Little Man,” I coo, picking him up off the changing station and snuggling him to my neck. I kiss his soft little cheek, but his cries only mildly let up. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re hungry.” I’m already starting to get a bit leaky, a sign it’s definitely feeding time.
Grabbing a clean burp cloth off the shelf, I head over to the glider and get myself positioned. His mouth is already opened as he seeks me out, and I know it’s only a matter of seconds before he voices his displeasure once more. I slip the nursing pillow beneath him and remove my top one-handed, like the professional breast feeder I’ve become in the last two weeks. I’m a pro at nursing at night, half asleep and dizzy from exhaustion.
Rowan latches on immediately and does his thing. I use the opportunity to watch him, taking in his features. I can’t get enough of his little button nose and his dark hair. Even the dimple in his chin makes my heart burst with pride and love. It also makes it flutter as memories of a certain similar dimple flood my mind.
But now isn’t the time to think about the past.
Only the future.
So, I spend the next thirty minutes nursing my son, planning out everything from his first birthday to what I’m going to do for his college savings. I make a decent salary at the library, but admittedly, a baby has certainly changed things, both on the personal and financial front.
I wonder how different it would be if his father were involved. Not only for financial help but to have someone to share the day-to-day load. Having my parents here last week was a huge relief, their assistance meant more to me than I could have possibly realized beforehand. Plus, they got to spend an entire week with their first grandson.
But do you know what? I tried. I reached out to him, numerous times, and when I finally connected with him, I got less than positive responses. First, it was denial. The baby wasn’t his. Couldn’t be. Because, you know, I got pregnant all on my own. Then, it was radio silence. My messages went unanswered for months, even though I knew he was seeing them until I was eventually blocked. But not before I got one final communication. A threat of lawyers and harassment charges.
That’s when I was done.
Sure, I could have hired my own attorney and went after him for support, but do you know what? He didn’t want to be involved. I gave him every opportunity to step up and take care of his child, even if it was through financial support, but he chose a different route. The threat of a lawsuit was enough for me to realize he wasn’t who I thought he was when I met him.
I feel sadness sweep in as I picture Rowan’s life as he starts to grow up without a father. It’s done all the time by brave mothers, and in some cases, heroic fathers who step up and become the sole provider. I can do this too. I don’t need him. I don’t need his money. Fuck him and his lawyers.
Rowan finishes feeding and burps a second time. This is when he’s all snuggly and curls up so perfectly on my chest. I should put him down in his bassinet to sleep, but I can’t help it if I want to hold him just a little bit longer. Everyone says to enjoy these moments, they don’t last long, so I’m trying to do just that. Even if my lack of sleep and constant state of tiredness seems to be never-ending, I know someday, I’ll look back and wish he were still my tiny baby again.
When he seems to fall into a deep sleep, I gingerly get up from the glider and head to my bedroom. I did plenty of research while pregnant and decided the best option for me was to have him in my room for the first three months. Then, when he reaches that milestone, I’ll move him to his crib. Having him this close makes nighttime feedings much easier, that’s for sure. Plus, as a new parent, I’m still in the checking on him fourteen times a night phase.
A quick glance at the clock confirms my brother should be here soon. Probably wouldn’t hurt to steal a shower while Rowan sleeps. Plus, I’m not sure when I had one. I don’t think I did yesterday, did I? I don’t know. The days all run into each other at this point.
I grab clean undergarments and head for the bathroom, cranking up the hot water as warm as I can. Knowing Rowan can sleep for five minutes or three hours, I make quick work of cleaning my body and hair. I’m still a little tender from delivery, but every day gets better.
At least I’m not sitting on a donut anymore.
After a shower, I dress quickly, brush my hair, check on my son, and head down to the kitchen. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten much yet today. It’s almost lunchtime, but before I can find something to snack on, there’s a knock on my door. I practically sprint to the living room, taking a quick peek through the peephole before throwing the lock and ripping the door open.