Being Alive: A The Queen's Gambit Story

Chapter 14

Within the first few days of being a mother, Beth learned that parenthood was a rollercoaster of emotional highs and lows. At one moment, she felt such love and gratitude for her daughter that it was blinding to anything else, but then at another moment, often without warning, an equally blinding force descended. The frequency of those other moments steadily increased until she was lying awake at night, fostering resentment toward her peacefully sleeping husband as their daughter cried.

Nothing was going right. That initial flush of affection for her daughter had been a ruse, because in turn, her daughter seemed to want nothing to do with her. She cried incessantly and loudly, only calming at either Benny or Mrs. Watt's touch. She even rejected Beth's most primitive offering, refusing to latch onto her breast for feeding. Mrs. Watts told her not to be upset by it, that sometimes breastfeeding did not work, but Beth felt her old insecurities reappear and firmly root themselves in the forefront of her mind. She took Mrs. Watts' words as yet another recrimination of her parenting and swiftly shut her out, and when Benny tried to defend his mother, she did the same to him. Neither of them understood, Benny especially. He didn't know what it felt like to carry another person around for nine-months and then have them choose someone else. She thought of her daughter's namesake, Alma Wheatley, and feels a longing so distinct that it is almost tactile.

One afternoon, Beth locks herself in the bathroom after refusing to hold Alma. She should have gone to the bedroom, but the bathroom was closer, and she just needed to get away from Benny and his good-natured pleading. Alma, of course, screams in Benny's arms, no doubt anticipating the transfer from her perfect father to her imperfect mother. Benny doesn't understand. None of them understand.

"I don't know what to do," Benny tells his mother. "I can't get through to her."

"It's difficult for a woman when she first becomes a mother. All the hormones. Sometimes, it gets sorted out and other times..."

"What do I do?"

"You should call Dr. Woodland."

Beth keeps a list of everything going wrong. It's tucked away in her nightstand drawer, hidden just enough to be out of sight but still recoverable if anyone did the slightest bit of searching. And, let them find it. Maybe then they would understand. Each night she updates it, and when Benny tells her he called Dr. Woodland without consulting her and thinks she should see him, she starts another list. This time, it's her grievances. There's a tidy list for Benny. Another for Mrs. Watts. The grievances largely range from petty to mundane, but on occasion, something deeper emerges. Sandwiched between cramped scrawls about Benny's sleeping habits, Beth writes: Why doesn't he see me?

One week later, Beth and Benny go to Dr. Woodland's office for a routine postnatal visit. When Dr. Woodland asks how everything is going, Beth blandly returns that everything is fine. Inside, she is screaming, but translating that into comprehensible words feels like too much effort. Dr. Woodland eyes her warily and says, "Benny told me that you've been having trouble sleeping."

"I sleep fine now."

"She sleeps all day," Benny says in a low voice.

"That's because I didn't sleep for months," Beth returns sharply. "And now, when I can, our daughter wakes me up every few hours."

"How are you connecting with Alma?" Dr. Woodland asks.

The truth feels too shameful to admit, because what mother doesn't connect with her daughter, so Beth shrugs and says, "We're connecting fine."