The New Mother by Nora Murphy

Author:Nora Murphy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

* * *

“Everything okay?” Paul asked, eyeing my discarded device.

I laughed, though it made me sound crazy, not amused. “Not really.”

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

I looked at him. We were so close that we could have kissed. But I didn’t want to. I longed for him to hold me, but it wasn’t a sexual longing. I couldn’t have had a sexual thought if I tried, at that point, and I certainly didn’t want to try—it would conjure only thoughts of that sharp and reflective Wusthof, of slicing pain and parched skin, sucked dry of all moisture by the breastfeeding. This was a different sort of longing entirely. In this moment, I hated Tyler for being nothing like Paul. For being partner. For sleeping. For burdening me with more than my fair share of responsibility for keeping our child alive and making him happy. For burdening me with his feelings. For failing to take notice of how disquieting my own had become.

Meanwhile, Paul was comfort. He took nothing from me, only gave. He was relief and hope.

There was so much I could have told him. That I was so tired, I was scaring myself. That my memory still refused to hold on to much of anything. That I loved my baby with a fierceness that almost felt deadly. But, despite the love, there was despondency wavering just below my surface.

I didn’t want to talk about any of it. For once, I wanted to forget.

“I just want to rest,” I told him. “To relax. To feel like I’m going to be okay.”

He watched me in silence for a few seconds, then he stood. He cradled Oliver with one arm, then held his other hand toward me.

“So, rest,” he said. “Right now. Show me where you want me to hang this picture, then lie down. I’ll take care of him.”

“No,” I protested immediately. “I couldn’t.”

“You can. You need to.” He stretched his hand even closer.

I reached up, and I took it. I let him lead me upstairs, to the nursery, where we surveyed the open wall space.

“You know what?” I said. “Let’s replace that picture with the one you brought.” I pointed to the cartoon giraffe, pastel, almost patronizing.

“You got it. Now, go lie down.”

I hesitated in the doorway. “But how will you watch him while you hang it?”

“I’ll put him to sleep, lay him down for a nap.”

“Oh, no.” I laughed. “Oliver doesn’t nap in his crib. He only naps in his swing, or while he’s being held.”

But Paul only smiled at me, patiently. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” I asked. “What if I fall asleep?”

“Natalie, that’s the whole point. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got nothing but time.”

I hesitated a second longer, but then I did as he said. I left.

Maybe his firmness, his demands that I take care of myself, should have bothered me. They were so direct, so much more than the vague suggestions offered by my husband. Who was he to tell me what to do? Except, it was exactly what I needed.

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