The babysitter

Breaking Apart

Lucy woke up at 5:47 AM to the sound of her own stomach revolting. She barely made it to the bathroom before the wave of nausea hit, leaving her kneeling on the cold tile floor, gripping the porcelain bowl like it was her lifeline.

"Breathe," she whispered to herself, the way Dr. Martinez had taught her. "Just breathe through it."

But the nausea lingered, that persistent queasy feeling that had become her constant companion over the past two weeks. Some days were better than others. Today was clearly going to be one of the worse ones.

She heard Tim's footsteps in the hallway, then his gentle knock on the bathroom door.

"Lucy? You okay in there?"

"Fine," she called back, though her voice sounded weak even to her own ears. "Just give me a minute."

The minute stretched into ten as she sat on the bathroom floor, waiting for the world to stop spinning. When she finally felt steady enough to stand, she found Tim waiting in the hallway with a glass of water and a concerned expression.

"Better?" he asked, handing her the water.

"Getting there," Lucy said, taking small sips. "I think the prenatal vitamins are making it worse."

"Maybe call Dr. Martinez? Ask about switching to something else?"

"I'll add it to the list," Lucy said, though the thought of making another phone call felt overwhelming. Her to-do list was already a mile long, and she felt like she was drowning in everything that needed to be done.

From down the hall came the sound of Emma's voice, high-pitched and agitated. "Daddy! Evan won't give me back my book!"

"MINE!" Evan's voice carried clearly, followed by what sounded like something hitting the floor.

Tim sighed. "I'll handle it."

"No, it's fine," Lucy said, already heading toward the kids' rooms. "I've got it."

She found Emma and Evan in the middle of a full-scale tugging match over a picture book, both of them red-faced and on the verge of tears.

"Hey, hey," Lucy said, kneeling down to their level, though the movement made her stomach lurch again. "What's going on?"

"Evan took my book!" Emma said, her voice reaching that particularly shrill note that meant she was really upset. "I was reading it and he just grabbed it!"

"I want it!" Evan declared, clutching the book to his chest. "It's mine too!"

"It's Emma's book, buddy," Lucy said gently, reaching for it. "You need to give it back."

"NO!" Evan shrieked, and the sound went through Lucy's head like a knife. "MINE! MINE! MINE!"

The screaming triggered another wave of nausea, and Lucy had to close her eyes and breathe deeply to keep from being sick again.

"Evan, please," she said, her voice strained. "Inside voice."

But Evan was past reasoning, throwing himself on the floor in a full tantrum. Emma, not to be outdone, started crying too—loud, gulping sobs that made Lucy's head pound.

"What's wrong with Mommy?" Emma asked through her tears, and Lucy realized she must look as awful as she felt.

"Mommy's just not feeling very well this morning," Lucy said, though 'not feeling well' was a massive understatement. "Can you be my big girl helper and get dressed while I help Evan?"

"But I want you to help me pick out my clothes," Emma said, her tears coming faster now. "You always help me pick out my clothes!"

"I know, sweetheart, but—"