Maternity Leave (9781466871533) (26 page)

158 Days Old

To: Fern

From: Annie

I wanted to let you know that I took your advice and tried role-playing with Zach. It worked! I mean, it made me not so self-conscious.

I'm thinking about you and hope you can write or call soon and let me know how things are going with you and Adam. I'm crossing my fingers for you.

Love,

Annie

159 Days Old

My mom calls to remind me she's returning in one week.

“How can I forget, Ma. I've been scratching away the days onto my headboard.”

“I look forward to seeing you, too,” she gushes.

“So we'll do a run-through when you get back to see how you'll do with Sam. He's a different person than when you left. You won't even recognize him,” I say.

“Are you implying he won't recognize
me
? Are you punishing me for being gone so long? Because I don't feel guilty.”

By the sound of her voice, she does, but I don't press the matter. “He'll know it's you by your smell. Maybe. Just come home, Ma.”

“See you soon.”

Eight days and counting.

160 Days Old

I am getting better at pumping. I can now hold both suckers in place with my forearm while using my other hand to do useful things like changing the channel and flipping the pages of a book (current read: issue #16 of
Buffy
Season 10 comic). Only once did the maneuver backfire, and I spilled about an ounce of milk on my bedspread. “Motherfucker!” I yelled. “I just lost some liquid gold!” No one was around to hear me except my buddies on QVC. I'm sure they sympathized.

To: Louise

From: Annie

Dear Lou,

How are you feeling? Are you ready to go back to work? Are you going to take any maternity leave with the next one? Maybe you can make it to the end of the school year and have the baby right when school lets out. You can totally mess with the students; pretend you never had the other baby and you've been pregnant for two years! Scare the shit out of them. I think pregnant teachers are the best form of birth control. Remember when you threw up in a garbage can in front of your class? Classic.

I'm a veritable dairy store. We had to ask our next door neighbors if we could use the deep freezer in their garage to store my milk because our kitchen freezer is already full. I hope one of their teenage sons doesn't wake up in the middle of the night craving an ice cream bar and open up a bag of breastmilk by mistake.

See you at Institute Day NEXT WEEK (Holy shit!!!!!)!

♥
Annie

161 Days Old

I have put it off long enough: It is time to try on my work clothes and see if they fit. Yoga pants and summer stretchy shorts easily hid the fact that I may need an entirely new wardrobe. I've already resigned myself to the truth that I will not be wearing any button-down shirts until I stop breastfeeding and my boobs go down to a less bulbous size. I also realize I will need some seriously padded nursing bras; the last thing I want to do is walk into a classroom filled with middle school boys as I sport gigantic boobs and pump-elongated nipples.

I place Sam on a baby blanket inside of my small walk-in closet. Outside, a boombox plays another mix from college, currently on Guided by Voices' “Echos Myron.” “You know,” I tell Sam, “this closet felt a lot bigger when we first moved in. You should have seen our apartment in Chicago. We had the tiniest closets.”

I sift through my rack of clothes and periodically try on a shirt. When it fits, I place it to the left. When it doesn't, it goes on a spot to the right. “We lived on the third floor, it was the top floor, and we had to carry all of our groceries up the stairs and our garbage down the stairs. It was always a little suspenseful—would the garbage bag leak? Would it slip out of our hands and tumble down three flights of stairs?” Sam listens intently. “Doogan lived there with us, and once we had mice in the apartment, which sounds gross but is way better than rats. That happened to Aunt Nora once.” Sam exhales noisily. “I know, right? One day I was watching TV on my bed. That was all we could fit into our bedroom: a double bed and a tiny dresser with a TV on top. Doogan had all manner of toys, some that looked like little realistic mice.” Sam coos. “You see where I'm going with this. So Doogan is bopping what I thought was a toy mouse all over the place between his paws, and he jumps up onto the bed with his toy mouse. But it wasn't a toy mouse at all. It was a baby mouse! I screamed and whipped my covers up, so the baby mouse flew up into the air and landed somewhere on the floor. Lucky your dad was home. He caught the baby mouse under a bowl and brought him outside. Where he was probably instantly devoured by rats.”

I look at Sam, and he smiles at me. I'm encouraged. “Want to hear another mouse story? This one is from college, where I lived in a total dump with two girlfriends. I couldn't sleep one night, so in the dark I got up and started looking for earplugs to help. I threw textbooks around on my floor, went into the bathroom, and finally found a pair. When I went back into my bedroom, I turned on the lights to clean up the books and there, underneath a giant physics volume, were two mouse legs sticking out, feet pointing up to the ceiling. I had thrown a book randomly and killed a mouse!” Sam reacts with a squeal. “Can you believe it? I'm still amazed. My roommate, Annika, I think I may have told you about her—the one that liked canned cheese—she got rid of it for me. College roommates are awesome. You'll see.”

For the rest of the hour, I try on clothes and regale my son with college stories. He is a captive audience. It's the first occasion we spend together where I don't feel like I'm alone.

162 Days Old

Sam and I spend the day packing up his newborn-sized clothes into storage bins and listening to the Monkees.

The opening piano notes of “Daydream Believer” tinkle from the stereo. When the dulcet sounds of Davy Jones's voice begin singing, I join in. Sam watches. His eyes are still blue, but I can see they're similar in shape to mine. He looks awfully sweet when he's not torturing me.

The song's chorus swells, “Cheer up, sleepy Jean…,” and I lift Sam off the floor. We dance around his bedroom, Sam's head tucked into my neck. Every once in a while he leans out to look at my face. I kiss his nose and laugh, amazed that here I am dancing with Sam—not crying, not wondering what to do, not cursing him with sleeplessness.

“We've got this, Sam,” I whisper to him. “We've got this.”

163 Days Old

Zach and I had sex again tonight.

“What about Buffy and Angel?” is his initial idea for a role-play.

“What? I don't want to have sex with Angel. If I'm going to be Buffy, you're going to be Spike,” I say.

“Really? I always thought Angel was her one true love.”

“You're crazy. Spike was funnier. And more passionate. Angel was like a stone statue. Nice guy, but I'd choose Spike over him any day.”

“How about any night?” Zach says as he nips at my neck. “I've got a stake for you.”

“I'll be the one to dole out the banter, thank you,” I tell him, and Buffy and Spike get naked.

164 Days Old

Ack! The company that makes my favorite nursing bra has gone out of business! The bras are now available only on the black market of Canada. I called a Canadian bra store and actually had an employee tell me she couldn't ship to the United States. It's a conspiracy! You'd think all my support of
Degrassi High
lo these many years would count for something.

Trying to find a new bra, I discover something extraordinary: My zit, the one that colonized onto my chest for the last five months, is gone. Packed and moved away to greener pastures. Is it weird that I might miss it a little?

To: Annie

From: Fern

Annie,

So sorry I haven't been in touch. After I talked to you, I confronted Adam about the text. Things got messy, and there was a lot of yelling, then silence, then more yelling. Thankfully we're both committed to trying couples therapy and making things work. Not just for the kids, but for us, too. I'll fill you in more when I get a second.

Good luck when you go back to work! Kick it in the ass! Thanks for listening and for being such a good friend.

Love,

Fern

I don't know if this means Adam cheated or not. Or if that is what matters, if Fern and Adam are willing to work on it. I snuggle Zach a little closer at bedtime and wish on a star for my friend.

165 Days Old

Today I take Sam to my school to see what shape my classroom is in. They're always doing things over the summer that make it look like a poltergeist came in and stacked up the chairs in the most precarious way possible.

I run into my favorite custodian, Stanley, who disinfects my classroom in exchange for freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies whenever I panic when a student coughs. It's a good deal. He helps me take down the mounds of chairs and desks and place them into a U shape for the beginning of the school year. Sam rides calmly in a wrap on my chest as we do this.

“You should wear him on you during the school year. He's so good,” Stanley suggests.

“Yeah, I don't know how good he'd be for an entire day.”

“You're going to miss him?” Stanley asks.

I lean down and inhale Sam's baby scent. I've spent a lot of time thinking toward the future when I would gain some semblance of myself back, but now I'm definitely feeling, “Yes. I'm going to miss him.” I kiss Sam's head several times before returning to furniture moving. Maybe I
could
bring him to work with me. There are those pictures on Tumblr of Licia Ronzulli, a member of the European Parliament, who brings her daughter to work with her, and she looks so good while doing it. I'm guessing the European Parliament is a lot easier to handle than eighty thirteen-year-olds.

166 Days Old

I finally found the perfect lullaby for Sam. I remember most of the words, it's sweet, and it's even a little inspirational: “Rainbow Connection” from
The Muppet Movie
. It's like taking a little piece of my childhood and inserting it into Sam's. He loves it. Admittedly, I cried the first time I sang it to him. But I have every night for the rest of his life to perfect it.

167 Days Old

Nora and her husband, Eddie, bring over a pizza and some movies. Since I go back to work next week, I get to choose the films. I select a nostalgic double feature of
The Last Unicorn
and
The NeverEnding Story
. Sam is upstairs in bed, and the adults in the house are drinking beer and enjoying watching a boy warrior and his horse named Artax. Nora and I drive the husbands crazy by reciting every line verbatim.

“You should have seen Annie last year at Comic-Con when she got to meet that guy.” Zach points to the screen at child actor Noah Hathaway, now a rather lovely, if still diminutive, man covered in tattoos.

“It was thirty years in the making! I'm not supposed to freak out?” I protest. “He was so sweet.” I recount the story they've already heard a thousand times. “I asked if we could record him saying, ‘Annie, would you hunt the purple buffalo with me?' And he did! He had his arm around me. It was one of the most romantic moments of my life.”

“Thanks for that,” Zach interjects. “I thought she might go home with the guy,” he admits.

“I wouldn't. I don't think. It's not like he asked. Do you think he liked me?” I gush.

We laugh loudly and then shush each other lest we wake up Sam.

In the middle of
The Last Unicorn,
Zach snoring on the couch, Nora elbows Eddie. “I want to tell them.”

“I thought we said we'd wait,” Eddie whispers unnecessarily. I can hear every word they're saying.

“You two have all the subtlety of a tornado siren. What do you want to tell me?”

“I'm pregnant!” Nora whisper-yells.

“Don't you mean
we're
pregnant?” Eddie asks.

“Who are you kidding? If this thing works, I'm the one getting fat and pushing a human being the size of an American Girl doll out of my cooter.” Nora looks at me and reiterates, “I'm pregnant, Annie.”

I hug her, and inside I hope and pray this is the one that will stick around to become the daughter or son Nora so deserves.

Zach pops up from his late-night nap on the couch. “Is it over? Are you crying because it's over?” I don't realize I'm crying, but I am. Making babies is magical, mysterious, terrifying, gratifying, and all-encompassing. I can't wait for Nora to experience every bit of it.

Later That Night

Zach and I are in bed when he proposes, “How about we play a little
NeverEnding Story
?”

“Are you talking sexy playing?” I clarify.

“Yes,” he answers, stretching the word out like the giant turtle from the film, Morla, the Ancient One.

“Stop. That's creepy. And you do realize there is no romantic plot in that film?”

“You were hot for that kid,” he notes.

“When I
was
a kid,” I acknowledge.

“Come on. I saw the way you looked at him at Comic-Con last year. I'll be him. And you be…” Zach thinks on it.

“Don't you dare say the Childlike Empress. Because we are not going there.”

“Yeah. I guess I didn't think this one through,” Zach admits. “So who do you want to be tonight?”

I ruminate for a moment and then suggest, “How about Annie and Zach? Or is that too weird?”