April 4, 2001

At what point does this kid stop crying? At what point does he sleep for more than an hour at a time? At what point do I get to sleep for more than an hour at a time?

When am I going to learn what his cries mean so I can stop them?

I didn’t want him. I know that sounds horrible, but it’s not like we planned this and I was ready to be a mother. Hell, I don’t even know if I even wanted kids in general. I’m not even talking about now, I’m talking about ever. Like, not even in ten years when I’m married and have an actual career and have maybe done something with my life. 

“Shut up,” I whispered to the crying baby that would not latch on to my nipple, “I swear to god, shut up.”

I looked over at Justin who was sleeping soundly next to me and wanted so bad to punch him in the throat. I’m so mad that he’s able to sleep through the screaming, but then I feel guilty because in reality he’s probably been awake more than I have. I need more sleep than he does, it’s always been that way. 

The lack of sleep is absolutely killing me. 

“I swear to god you little shit, shut up,” I whispered again, immediately feeling guilty for talking to my son like that, but WHY WON’T HE STOP CRYING? 

Now I’m crying, which tends to be the way this works. He cries, then I cry, then Justin wakes up and becomes the hero when he picks up our son and rocks him and sings to him. Then the baby stops crying and slowly, I stop crying, but only until I realize he’s leaving next week and I don’t know how I’m going to be able to stop the crying ever again.

I took a deep breath and moved the baby so I could check his diaper, that is, in fact, wet. Of course it is.  I slowly slid out of bed and made my way into his room to change his diaper. There has to be a better way to do this. 

He stopped crying, but he’s still not quiet. He’s fussy and making these faces like he just hates life. 

Me too kid, me too.

I picked him up and slid down to the floor, laying him on my thighs so I could look down at him. I know I’m a horrible person for thinking this, but he looks like an alien. I really hope he grows into this because his head is so big and he moves his nose like a rabbit. He makes such weird noises and I swear to god his eyes are crossed. Why doesn’t anyone talk about that? Everyone looks at him so much but no one mentions that his eyes are crossed. Maybe I’m supposed to be the one to bring it up since he’s technically my kid, but I feel like I can’t be the only one that notices it. 

He may have smiled. 

For a second, he smiled and I thought maybe this whole thing wasn’t so bad. But then he started crying again and I was reminded how ridiculous it is. I can’t do this. I’m never going to be able to do it. Usually people say the first few weeks are the hardest and it will get easier but that’s not going to happen for me. After the first few weeks I’m going to be all alone and I’m not going to be able to handle it. It’s never going to get easier, because there will always be new problems. He’ll be teething, then he’ll be crawling and walking, and he’ll be falling in the playground and he’ll be smoking and doing drugs and having sex. 

“Stop crying,” I spoke aloud. I haven’t tried that yet, a direct order. He should listen to his mother and shut the fuck up. 

It didn’t work, obviously, because he doesn’t understand and also because he’s a little shit that has no respect. So I pulled out my boob and lifted him up to it, hoping for the best. 

Of course it didn’t work, he just got more upset. He’s tired, I’m tired, so maybe he should just chill out and sleep. 

“I swear to god if you don’t stop crying I’m going to fucking… I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m going drop you or like throw you or lock you in a room and go to the other side of the house so I can get some goddamn quiet. Shut up! Why are you always crying? Take the fucking boob if you're hungry you little shit.”

I looked to the door when I heard Justin coming in. He had a look of disgust covering his face and reached down to grab Chris from my arms. 

I don’t know what he heard, but I hope he didn’t hear everything I said. I could see how that would look bad. Based on that look he’s giving me I think it’s fair to say he heard everything. 

“He’s hungry,” I spoke in a whisper. 

“He’s not hungry. Go to bed.”

“He might be hungry,” I hate how Justin talks like that, like he knows everything and just because he says Chris isn’t hungry means he isn’t hungry. He has no idea. I have no idea either, but at least I don’t pretend I do. 

“He’s not hungry, Mac. If he was he’d be eating. What are you doing in here anyway?”

“I had to change him,” I whined, feeling attacked. 

“Alright, go to bed. I got it.”

I couldn’t move, I just watched Justin rocking Chris in his arms and within seconds Chris was quiet. Why can’t I do that? I’m supposed to be the one that can do that. 

“Go to bed,” Justin repeated. 

“I’m not… tired. What if I’m not tired?” I held back a yawn, it’s obvious I’m exhausted, but I hate how he just comes in here and tells me what to do. Maybe I don’t want to go to bed. 

“You’re tired, Mac. Stop being so fucking stubborn and go to bed.”

“Sure, I just do anything you say. Because you’re the hero, right? You just come in and pick him up and he stops crying. Justin to the rescue. Saving the day,” I answered in the bitchiest way possible. 

Justin threw his head back and took a deep breath. He’s reaching his point with me, and I don’t even care. Maybe he’ll take the fucking baby and leave, the both of them. Forever. That’d be great. “Just go to sleep, Mac,” he replied softly. 

“What if he has to eat?”

“I’ll figure it out. Go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep!”

“Fine, don’t go to sleep. Just leave us alone.”

I watched as he stepped over me and walked down the hall. How can he tell me to leave my son alone? It’s not like I’m bothering him, HE’S BOTHERING ME.  I waited until I heard Justin go down the stairs before I went into the bedroom and crawled into bed, falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. 

When I woke up the next morning I had that sudden fear that I forgot what happened to my son.

Then I remembered. 

It was quiet, so I took the chance to do something I haven’t done in a few days; shower. When I made my way downstairs I saw Justin asleep on the couch with the baby sleeping on his stomach. It was kind of cute, actually, and I think I might have smiled. 

I quietly made my way into the kitchen, put on some coffee, and cooked some bacon and eggs. When the crying began again I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Justin stood up and rocked him and it stopped. Just like that. 

I made my way over to Justin with a cup of coffee and held it out as a peace offering, “Trade ya?”

“Thanks, but I’ll take both.”

“He has to be hungry, Justin.”

Justin swallowed hard and nodded his head before motioning me to sit down on the couch. He handed me the baby and sat down, watching me carefully. 

“You can like, shower or whatever. Eat breakfast?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t trust me with my own kid.”

“Of course I trust you with our baby, I’m just sitting down.”

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” I asked. Of course he does. 

“I think I’m sitting on the couch, Mac. It’s not a big deal,” he took a sip of his coffee before continuing, “I made you an appointment with your doctor at 11:30.”

“What?”

“I think you need to talk to somebody. I’m leaving soon and you’re going to be on your own and you need to be able to—“

“You’re ridiculous, you can’t make me a doctor’s appointment.”

“Look Mac, it’s completely normal that you—“

“It’s completely normal that my life is over. And you get to leave and I have to stay here. I have a life sentence. I never get to leave. It’s completely normal that I’m twenty and alone for the rest of my life.”

“The doctor will give you some medicine to make you feel better,” he continued, as if he didn’t hear anything I just said. He can’t tell me it’s not true, because it is. It’s absolutely true.

“Do you know what would make me feel better? If you took him with you when you left.”

“Don’t say that, Mac. You don’t mean it.”

I looked down at the baby and wished I didn’t mean it, but I do. I wish I had some kind of connection with him. When I look at him all I can think about is how he’s ruined my life. I know it’s not his fault, but it feels like it is. 

I’m the worst mother in the history of the world. 

“I called an agency that helps to find nannies. They’re sending someone over later today to talk about what we’re looking for,” he continued. It’s funny how he says what we’re looking for as if he’s even the slightest bit involved. As if he’s ever even going to meet the nanny. “Your parents are going to come, because I figured they know more about what we should look for. I can stay, if you want, or I don’t have to.”

It’s also funny how he says he can stay but he doesn’t have to. Almost like it’s up to me if I want him to have any part of picking the person who is going to help watch his son. Almost like it has nothing to do with the fact that he can’t be seen with me or with, god forbid, his son just in case the nanny decides to sell the story to a tabloid. 

“I don’t care.”

He nodded his head and took another sip of coffee.

“We don’t want to start a publicity storm,” I continued.

“You know it’s not about that, Mac. I’m saying I can leave it up to you and your parents if you want but, I can stay. I’d be happy to stay.”

“I don’t care,” I answered in a whisper, “Just don’t pretend that’s why. We all know the real reason.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying.”

“Yup,” I turned away from the baby and looked at Justin, “Has anyone even called to see how we’re doing? I mean, he was three weeks early. Did anyone even call you to ask if he’s ok? Did your mother— has your mother even acknowledged his existence, or even asked you if your son, her grandson, is ok? I don’t care. I don’t care if your mother doesn’t give a shit and doesn’t care that she has a grandson. I don’t care that Trace is the only person in your life that even wants to meet your son. I don’t care that you get to leave me and this baby and go tour the world like nothing happened. I don’t care.”

“It sounds like you care,” he began in a whisper  but got louder the more he talked, “Of course you do. I care. Are you kidding? You don’t think that’s something I’ve thought about every minute since I’ve been here? My own mother hasn’t called to see if my son is ok. He could have had serious problems. He could be in the NICU. He could have tubes coming out of everywhere to help him breath. You don’t think that’s something I think about every day? It’s one thing for my managers and label to ignore it, but my mother? My own fucking mother, Mac. I get it. I care. I’m doing the best I can here, I’m trying. I know this is hard, I know you’re overwhelmed and I don’t know what the fuck to do.  I’m doing the best I can, I’m trying, and it’s not enough. I know that, but I’m going to make it better. I’m going to figure it out.”

The baby started crying, because he’s done eating or has a bubble or is just a little shit that won’t let his parents have a moment. I moved him to my shoulder and patted his back, “Maybe she’ll come around.”

“She won’t.”

“Maybe Trace is filling her in.”

“He’s not.”

“Maybe they’re all fucked up. And we’re all screwed. And we should just give up.”

“Yeah,” he gave me a half smile, “Except we got this guy who needs to survive it all so we gotta give him a chance.”

I looked down at our son, then back at Justin. I wish they were a package deal. I really don’t think I can do this without him.