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“Because I took one yesterday.”
Please tell me I’m not the only mother who has this battle with their kids. Fin, she’d spend her life in the bathtub if you let her. Hazel too. Oliver and Sevi, nope, not a goddamn chance. Although, once we started hosing Sevi down, it’s easier. We tell him it’s time to bath the puppy and he jumps right in. Don’t judge us. Until you have a child like him, no judgment. “Oliver, you’re a boy who plays sports. You need to take them every day.”
Have you ever had to get a child ready for bed? What about two? Ha. Girl,please. Try getting five under ten ready for bed and none of them actually want to sleep unless they’re in the car and you don’t want them to. Aside from Hazel. Come nine o’clock every night, she puts herself to bed. Although, she did wake up last night at 3:00 a.m. to tell me her pajamas felt claustrophobic. Not that she felt claustrophobic, but she was worried about her pajamas, as if they were an actual person and couldn’t breathe if she was wearing them. So, much to Noah’s disagreement, I let our five-year-old sleep buck-ass naked. If you’re a mom, you totally understand where I’m coming from when I say we pick our battles. And not a day goes by that I don’t say to myself, “You suck at motherhood.”
After two hours of baths and pajamas, and then refilling water cups, changing diapers, feeding a very hungry baby (yes, my tits are still hostage to her), three of the four kids are down for bedtime.
It’s then I’m battling with Sevi to get him to stay in his bed which is on the floor. Toddlers are weird. There’s no way around it. They’re like little drunk people.
I hate to admit this, but he sleeps in a dog bed. I know, it’s crazy, but it’s a super nice one. We got it from Costco and even I’ve fallen asleep on it.
I tell myself constantly it’s a phase he’s going through, like when he wants me to scratch behind his ears or the fact that he likes to pee on the lawn while on all fours, but I’m not so sure. I’ve even taken him to his pediatrician, and they tell me again, it’s a phase and he’ll outgrow it. My therapist, she tells me he’s fine. It’s a phase. All kids do it. In all honesty, it started a few days after Mara died. Maybe it’s a coincidence; maybe it’s not. Our family has gone through a lot of changes, and for a toddler, I can’t imagine what he’s thinking and feeling.
Patting the bed, I push my son’s hair from his eyes. He refuses to let us cut it, and in turn, he’s starting to resemble a poodle. Probably by design on his part. “It’s time for bed, buddy.”
He smiles at me and after circling the bed, much like a dog does on all fours, he plops down beside me, licks my hand, and then nestles his head between my hands for me to pet his head.
“You need to stay in bed tonight. Good puppies sleep all night long,” I remind him, kissing his chubby cute cheeks. Out of all my kids, Sevi is the most adorable. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all cute. But Sevi, the one with shocking, almost unrealistic blue eyes like Mara’s, and curly mess of blond hair, he’s the one people compliment me and say, “Oh my goodness, he’s beautiful. Look at those eyes…” followed by, “why is he wearing a dog collar?” I usually laugh and avoid any real discussion about my son’s obsession with being a dog, and boobs. It’s a good thing he’s cute because even at three, we’ve never heard him have a conversation with anyone. Unless, of course, barking at them counts.
After I get the kids to bed, trip over the nail gun Noah left out, and the box of wood flooring in the hall he claims is acclimatizing to the indoor temperature of the house for the last month, I make my way into our room for the night. Settling under the blankets, I reach for my notebook.
Picking up the pen, I think about the night. I hadn’t always written in a journal, but when Mara got sick, it was something my therapist suggested as a way to cope with everything that was going on. I resisted for a while, and then one day after her treatments and seeing my little girl vomit violently for three hours, I began writing and praying. I started from the very beginning, the night Noah William Beckett entered my life because that’s where this all started.
Even after Mara passed, and now, I still write in it because, in a strange way, I feel like my Journal is the only one that truly knows me anymore.
Journal,I’m confused.
I think I begin most entries like that to you, but we’re friends, and you know me so well. Today sucked. Oliver got upset over Hazel wearing Mara’s shirt and I can’t blame him. It’s been a year, and still, it hurts just as much today as the day she died. The books, the doctors, that stupid therapist I see, they all lied. It doesn’t get any easier. It’s too deep, too raw to even think about that I just don’t. I avoid the emotion altogether. And Noah, I can’t even mention her name around him without him getting angry.
I wish you could tell me what to do because I’m at a loss. Not only did we lose our daughter, but I fear we’ve lost us. Have we lost it? Does Noah want something more like Ashlynn? I’m not insecure, I’ve never been, and I’m not jealous of her, but I look to myself and wonder could I up my game? Ashlynn, she’s skinny, toned in all the right places, clearly experienced in what men want. Sadly, I’m not sure I remember how Noah’s touch feels when we’re not rushed to know. I think back to his comments in passing the last month, and he’s never indicated he’s not happy with my looks. When his hands roam over the puckered skin on my hips where stretch marks reside, he never gives me any indication he finds it repulsive. As a matter of fact, he’s never commented on my weight. Even when I was nine months pregnant with Sevi and looking like two hundred pounds was coming in my near future. Never. He only ever tells me I’m beautiful. I’m being paranoid, aren’t I, Journal?
By the way, my neighbor is a porn star. Thinking of watching one of her videos. For pointers.
Closing the notebook,I tuck it inside my nightstand and check the time. It’s eleven and Noah is still over at Bonner’s. What the hell is he doing over there?
Just as I’mthinkingof taking a long hot bath, I squash that idea. We all know the moment moms think it’s safe to get in the bathtub, it turns into a kid conference and they’re all in there with you thinking it’s a bubble pool party.
My cell phone on the nightstand dings. It’s Kate.
Kate: I looked up one of her videos after doing research…
I knew she was going to look her up the moment she heard she was a porn star.
Kate: Her stage name is Sadie does Santa Barbara.
Kate: Just playin.
Kate: It’s Ashlynn’s Asshole.
Kate: I’m kidding again.
Me: How much wine have you had?
Kate: A glass.
Me: A bottle?
Kate: Probably.