She and the baby
A baby’s cry is the last thing you want to hear at 4AM. She knew this, but she decided to have a baby anyway. Well, decided to have a baby not so much, but decided against not having one once she was pregnant, sure.
At 36 her past had caught up with her. Officially unemployed with enough debt to cover four generations, her face was pale thanks to her Dad’s side and her freckles varied significantly in complexion, making her face pose a question more than it revealed an identity. She was never a hit with guys in school, girls either, and she’d found herself alone in her late 20s.
She’d find hope in men, and then in the buckets of Ben & Jerry’s she’d down after they dumped her. She majored in journalism and was constantly looking for and leaving work. She lived with four roommates up until her daughter was born when, taking what money she had left, she moved to a studio apartment on the bad side of town, aiming for the lowest rent possible.
The baby came to the earth at four pounds eight ounces, and when it was here she realized that she’d never really known what love was after all. The first cry was adorable, barely any noise escaping the baby’s mouth, and the first sneeze even more so. Babies shouldn’t be permitted to sneeze, she thought. Too cute! She never thought she’d raise a child alone, but in that moment she was grateful. She was determined to give the baby the life she never had, and as such made a vision board in the weeks following the birth, starting from age three and finishing at age 40.
Postpartum depression isn’t something anyone can prepare for, which she was told the day she found out she had it. What a relief, she thought. Nothing she could’ve done differently. It would make it even harder to raise your child, she was told, and it’s not something to be taken lightly. She was told to call her closest relative to help with the baby when she wasn’t able to take care of her, but she had no closest relative to call.
When the crying increased in frequency overnight, at first she handled it well. She’d set alarms for herself throughout the night leading up to her due date to get her body used to waking up every few hours, not realizing how foolish, impractical, and useless it would prove to be. Things are different when they’re real. It got worse and her low stamina became lower. She feared the baby’s bloody murder screams would make her bloody murderous, so she decided to get earplugs and try ignoring the baby during the night for a while. She pricked herself when she began falling asleep to the thought of someone taking the baby away.
It was a run-down neighborhood and half the apartments were infested with some sort of chemical unfit for children, which each resident knew but were powerless against, thanks to no renter rights, and her neighbor had thought about making a call for a while. She finally did after seeing her come out of her apartment one morning with cheeks sunken and a ripped bathrobe trying to bend down and get the paper.
When Social Services showed up, she was in bed with earplugs in and the baby was crying. She woke up after and cracked the first real smile in months when she noticed the baby’s crib was empty.
