Page 17 of June: Jess' Story

Only when they’re mandated.

Sure.

That’s a no then, ha!

Since when do you think you know me?

I don’t know. It just sort of happened.

Huh.It just sort of happens that you’re getting by, and then one day you realize she didn’t text you on Christmas and you panic. You think maybe she got in a car accident and you’re stressed and freaking out, and you thinkwhy the hell am I freaking out about thisand then it hits you. Because somewhere along the way, it just sort of happened that this woman wormed her way intomycold, dead heart.Fuck.

NOW

FOUR

Jess

“Mmkay. You, my dear, are going to be chill for 15 minutes, right? So mommy can shower?” I look down at my daughter, looking sweet as pie, but knowing she’s a little demon in cherub’s clothing.

I’ve got the Pack ‘n Play set up in the bathroom, filled with toys, teething rings, and an iPad playing Bluey on repeat.Like, come on girl, cut me some slack.

She’s been teething on and off for months. And that means no one is sleeping. Which also means I’ve been walking around our row house like a zombie most days. But that ends now.

I’m putting my foot down. I’m pulling out all the stops, including screen time. (Judge me, I dare you.) But this mom’s gotta do what this mom’s gotta do. And that starts with a shower and a blow out.

I slowly back away from the Pack ‘n Play like you would a ticking timebomb, then quickly slip into the shower when she turns to look at the iPad.

I’m under the hot spray less than two minutes before she starts screaming bloody murder.Two minutes.My heart rate spikes at the sound. I step out of the shower, soaking wet and stare at Eden who is standing at the edge of the Pack ‘n Play with crocodile tears rolling down her pink cheeks.

“Edie, we talked about this,” I say in mock scolding as I throw a towel down on the tile to walk over to her. “Mommy needs 15 minutes, okay?” I try to soothe her without picking her up. If I pick her up, I’ll have to hold her while I shower.

I notice that Bluey has stopped playing on the iPad. I get it. I’d be pissed, too.

“Is this what we’re upset about?” I ask her. She doesn’t say anything back (obviously, she’s only eight months old), but she plops down on her butt while I reach over to restart the episode.

A text message comes through, and I swipe up quickly to get back to Bluey. But another text message comes through before I can even start the video again. It’s Jamie.Ugh. I swipe the message away again and press play, but another message comes through. Again. I roll my eyes and drop my shoulders in annoyance. That’s what I get for trying to use Tommy’s iPad.

Grabbing my phone off the counter, I pull up the show, then put my phone straight into the hands of the babe. (Mother-of-the-year stuff right here.) Tommy would be pissed, but like…Ineeda shower. It’s been a solid week since I’ve had an “everything shower.” Things are getting desperate (and hairy) over here. And Tommy got a babysitter for tonight, which he hasn’t done since…ever. And we’re going out, which we haven’t done in…what feels like forever.

The wheels may have fallen off, but we’re getting our shit together to-day. And that’s final. I walk Tommy’s iPad to his bathroom counter to set it down, just as another text message from Jamie comes through.

Jamie

Have you told her yet?

Excuse me, what?My heart stutters in my chest.

Do you ever justknowsomething is bad before you really even know? That’sthis. Instant dread.

I don’t typically read Tommy’s messages. I’ve never felt I had a reason to snoop on my husband. We have a great relationship. We’re partners, we talk constantly, our sex life is pretty good, all things considered. I mean, we do have an eight month old…but I open his messages app where I have a birds-eye view of their unfolding conversation.

Tommy

No. But I’m planning to.

T. You said you were going to tell her last week.

I know. Just Eden’s not sleeping great, and it was a rough week. I didn’t want to pile on.