a split second I wish my boys would go get a hug and feel what their sister was gifted. Their mother has been gone for a month now, and she was never a hugger. Then the split second wish evaporates as I watch my boys continue our walk back to apartment three.
And my bitterness feels like sadness.
It hurt like hell and we named him Kai
past
I never realized how much I craved Seamus’s full attention until it was gone. It’s not that he smothers me with it, but he’s always present. Always adoring and takes his end of our relationship and marriage seriously. He nurtures it: with thoughtful comments, encouragement, praise, compliments, open conversation, support, touch, sex, kindness, and care. And I feel the love in each of them. Not over-the-top, put on love, but genuine it’s-who-I-am-in-my bones love. He doesn’t have to try; it’s effortless.
I greedily take everything he gives me; it feeds my insatiable ego, and I piecemeal it in return. Just enough to keep him on the hook.
But when the baby was born I felt the tide turn, an instantaneous shift in attention. I don’t want to share his attention. It’s mine.
The very moment the doctor pulled that gelatinous laden, squawking life form from my body and said, “It’s a boy,” Seamus’s face ignited with a look of love like I’ve never seen. It was so intense I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t witnessed it myself, firsthand.
It felt like my lungs deflated with each swell of Seamus’s. They laid the baby on my chest, but all I could do was watch Seamus fall in love. Not with me, but with the tiny human I’d just harbored for nine months and given life to. He should be looking at me with adoration for the sacrifice I’d just made. But he couldn’t because he was never going to see anything but the baby.
Seamus’s hand moved, and I could sense that he was stroking the baby’s head with a loving gentleness I’m sure had never been bestowed upon another in all of human history. It should have been heartwarming.
But instead, it hurt like hell.
“I think we should name him Kai, after my grandfather. It means ocean or sea.” He said it softly, reverently, with tears glistening in his eyes.
My lungs still vacant, all of the air drawn out by the betrayal I felt, left me unable to speak, so I nodded. And we named him Kai.
Stretch marks are for life
past
“I’m going back to work tomorrow.” I know they’re words he doesn’t want to hear. Seamus wants me to take advantage of the six weeks maternity leave that Marshall Industries offers their employees.
“It’s only been three weeks, Miranda. Give yourself some more time.” He’s holding a sleeping Kai in his arms; contented baby, contented daddy, the picture of familial perfection.
“I don’t need time. I need to get back into my old routine. I think it’s the only thing that will help.” I’ve feigned post-partum depression and have been subtly planting the seeds since Kai’s delivery, lobbying that a quick return to work will help me bounce back. I’m a year into my dream job and can’t afford time off. Time off gives my co-workers a competitive edge, and I’ll be damned if anyone gets an edge on me. Time off doesn’t fit into my plans. The twelve to fourteen hour work days I thrive on is what fits into my plans. It’s what makes promotions, raises, and titles possible.
He’s inwardly sighing, I can see it, but he’s also trying to be supportive of my fragile— fictional, unbeknownst to him— emotional state. “Are you sure this is what you need? That it will help?”
I nod. Damn right this will help. This is my façade and everyone’s playing into it flawlessly. Seamus graduated with his degree two weeks before the baby was born on June first and doesn’t start his high school counseling job until mid-August. He’s doted on Kai twenty-four seven. I haven’t touched a bottle, changed a diaper, given a bath, or gotten up in the middle of the night. All my choice, of course, but Seamus is over the moon happy to be a dad and do it. To pick up my slack. I knew he would. He’s the goddamn patron saint of parenthood.
So, off to work I go. Leaving parenting to Seamus so I can focus on my career.
This baby stuff turned out to be a piece of cake.
Except the stretch marks, those sons of bitches are for