about the sliver of stupid hope in her that maybe this time would be different.
“What’s up?” Andrew said as they brushed their teeth before bed.
“I’m dreading this family visit. What was I thinking, telling them they can come? I told my sister she has to swear to come too, upon pain of death.”
“Why?”
“Safety in numbers? Misery loves company? Something like that.”
“Sounds fun,” he said, his words garbled.
Andrew had worked up a foam of toothpaste. It dribbled from between his lips as he brushed.
He shook his head like a dog after a bath, spitting the foam into the sink and pulling something from his mouth.
“What’s that?” she said.
He held it up to the light.
“A bristle from my new toothbrush came out while I was brushing.”
“God,” she said.
“I could have swallowed it.”
He narrowed his eyes in mock indignation. “Hollow fucking Tree,” he said, throwing the toothbrush on the counter with such force that it bounced twice and landed on the floor.
“You’re awful,” she said.
They laughed.
* * *
—
In bed that night, Elisabeth tried to count backward from one hundred, but each time, her thoughts intruded before she reached the high eighties.
She got up and checked on the baby. They had moved him into his own room, which made her happy and wistful in equal parts. She slept better now, but she would never again experience those first, all-consuming weeks and months.
As Gil grew older, more solid, Andrew seemed to find his footing as a dad. He was more involved. There were more things the two of them could do together. They had games and routines of their own that Elisabeth had nothing to do with. She had started leaving Gil with Andrew on the occasional Saturday while she tried to work. This too felt bittersweet.
Recently, her agent had said it was past time to tell her publisher what she planned to write next. Elisabeth proposed a book on Title IX and the history of women in sports, based on the last series of articles she’d been assigned before the baby was born. She had already done most of the research and the interviews. It could be a short book, something to bridge the gap between her pre-Gil self and whatever version of her was coming next.
She had no particular interest in sports, but she thought the women’s individual journeys were compelling. Had it not been for a change in federal law, they might never have played high school soccer or basketball, or had the chance to go to college on an athletic scholarship.
Elisabeth pitched the idea, and her agent and editor seemed encouraging, if underwhelmed.
“Try it,” her agent said. “Why not?”
Elisabeth returned to bed now and shut her eyes, but still, sleep would not come.
She remembered her old middle-of-the-night companions, the BK Mamas. It had been a while since she looked at the Facebook page—weeks? A month? In part, this was because Gil now slept through the night. Maybe it also had something to do with Sam. Elisabeth had someone to keep her company, to talk to her about the baby as much as she wanted.
But mostly, she stopped looking because things there had started getting strange. The page was like that: it tended to go in cycles. A month or so of true kindness and support—a woman gave a stranger’s sister a kidney once; someone was always collecting clothes and toys and gear for refugee families or Christmas gifts for kids in shelters. Everyone gave generously. But then, inevitably, they’d start fighting, and that would be the tone for a while.
When last she looked, a flurry of passive aggression burst forth because a woman asked for advice about whether or not to stop nursing her three-month-old.
I’ve been diagnosed with D-MER, a condition that causes me to have suicidal thoughts when my milk lets down. (Yes, this is an actual thing.) Is it okay to stop nursing?? Will I regret it?
A few people told her to go for the formula and never look back, that her mental health was paramount. But others, in their subtle way, encouraged her to keep on.
Poor Momma! That sounds miserable. Thank goodness the letdown only lasts a second. Hang in there!
Breast is best, but do what you gotta do.
One mother was clear in her disdain for the idea. Elisabeth almost appreciated this, set against the approach of the others: Yes, you’ll regret it. When your sweet baby becomes an obese toddler thanks to your reliance on Big Food.
In another instance, someone posted a photograph