Temporary Secretary

Part 79

10 December 1981

8:00pm Thursday

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It wasn't so difficult. She didn't even scream. She would cry, it reminded you of a bird chirping, enough to wake you up, get your attention.

They were reasonable demands. She was hungry, needed a change, or just wanted to be held. In every way, she was a good baby.

There was something wrong with you. You should've known from the moment you felt her kick. That wasn't a normal reaction. She was out now, out and alive, and you didn't even realize how or why. She was real, she cried and was corporeal. You fed her, and she dozed off on your chest.

Those parts were nice. There was nothing wrong with the baby.

In fact, it was much less of a hellish experience than you thought it'd be. In your mind, you were convinced all the rosy pictures were a lie, and all it'd be was constant screaming and terror. Being vomited on, bitten, hit.

Of course, it wasn't perfectly easy, but you hadn't expected it to be. Somehow, you'd produced a healthy, normal, sweet little child.

Now five weeks old, she'd stopped being red, or yellow, and her head had changed into a normal shape. In fact, she was an especially lovely looking baby, with her big dark eyes, little mouth, and fluff of dark hair.

There was nothing wrong with her. She would eat, and she would sleep. Of course she wouldn't do much else at her age. All you had to do was keep her alive, keep yourself alive, and maybe keep the house tidy.

It was the bouts of existential dread that was getting to you. You didn't know where it was coming from. You'd been preparing for this many months now, but it was only just hitting you, how permanent it was. This wasn't something you could undo, or change your mind on.

She could be a good or horrible baby, but she was here to stay just the same. Whether you liked her or not (which you did, of course) you wouldn't have the option to hand her off. She was fully yours, for the rest of your life.

Furthermore, you were tied to Paul forever. Of course, you could leave if you truly felt the need. You knew more than anyone that parents who couldn't stand one another did more harm than separated ones. You didn't feel old fashioned obligations. But the child did tie you to him.

But you didn't want to leave Paul. Far from it.

It wasn't her, either. You adored her. What a sweet little face, just like her father. She looked just like him, but the opposite, in that she was perfectly innocent, new to the world.

You didn't understand how you could adore something so much, want it close to you and safe, yet at the same time be so afraid of it, and want to... not be without it, but rather, have it taken at arm's length, passed to someone more capable to take care of it. You weren't sure you trusted yourself with such a thing.

It felt surreal, and a bit like a dream, especially with the unnatural sleep patterns you'd fallen into. You weren't supposed to have a baby. It wasn't an identity you held. There were women who had children, mothers, then there was you. It didn't matter whether you'd done it or not, it didn't feel real, and you knew it couldn't be. You weren't a mother. You only felt like yourself, just as before.

Paul's talk and affirmations did not help much either. His heart was in the right place, or maybe he got satisfaction from what he'd done, or what he'd made of you. He seemed all too happy that he had a lady at home, tending to the house and newborn child. But he made his affections clear. He was happy to call you a mother.