Reclaimed

She will come. She always comes.

“Hello.” She answers on the third ring and I can already hear the smile in her voice, but I don’t have time to process this new resentment that spreads through me every time I hear her so happy.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I try to come across as composed, but in reality, I’m anything but. My mind and body have been putting on a show for the last few weeks, and I'm tired. So fucking tired, I don’t even know how much longer I can keep going.

“I’m just out with Sy,” she replies, seemingly oblivious to the mild breakdown I’m having on the floor of my kitchen.

“Doesn’t Sy have to get to the club for the club meet?” I question, finding the perfect opening to get her to come over.

“Um, yeah. We’re about to head there now.” I hear rustling and a muffled voice in the background but can’t make out who is talking.

“Well, get Sy to drop you off before,” I suggest, keeping the pleading out of my voice.

“We can’t. Sy needs to get straight there.” She shuts down my suggestion. The panic collars me, causing me to hyperventilate. An invisible force threatens to drag me down into a hole so deep I fear no one can hear my screams for help.

“Holly,” I begin as the first sounds of Harlow’s whimpers startle me through the crackle of the monitor.

“Oh, is that Low? I’ll let you go,” she says, and before I can beg for help, she’s gone.

Oh, God, what am I going to do now? I let the phone drop to the floor as Harlow’s little murmurs turn into cries. Cries that I can’t handle.

“Kadence, Low is awake,” Z calls out from the living room.

“Yeah, I know, bud. I’ll meet you up there,” I wheeze out, forcing myself to get it together at least for the kids’ sake.

“Hey, baby Low. How you doin’?” I hear Z murmur to his baby sister through the monitor. Her cries stop as she hears her brother’s voice, and if I wasn’t in total breakdown mode, I would smile at how much she already loves him. If only she loved me like that. If only I could bring that love to her.

I check the clock sitting above the fridge in front of me. It’s only been seven minutes. Seven whole minutes. Seven minutes which feel like a lifetime.

“You coming, Kadence?” Z calls again, antsy to play with his sister. We only have one rule, one rule I’m strict on, and that’s he can’t pick Harlow up out of the crib without me or Nix there. He knows this, so he will be waiting for me to come in for her.

Mindful that the longer I take to get to the kids, the worse it will be for all of us; I gradually pick myself up and force myself to go to my children.

The trek up the carpeted stairs takes longer than normal. The sound of Z’s voice and Harlow’s cries growing with each step I climb. I stop at the decorated door, a pink plaque hangs in the center; purple letters adorned in golds and pinks spell out her name. Slowly, I drag a long breath through my nose and try to calm myself before I push the door open and force myself to enter.

“Here’s momma,” Z comforts his sister, his knuckle in her mouth as she tries to suck.

“Hey.” I force a smile, knowing if anyone else was here, they would see past my fake bullshit. Not Z, not my sweet Z though.

Moving toward the honey-stained oak crib, I catch the first glimpse of her dark curls. I remember when she was born, the first thing I noticed was her dark hair. Just like her father’s. Then she opened her eyes and it was like falling in love in slow motion. Reaching the side of the crib, I peer over and watch as those same eyes come to mine. Green, vibrant and just like her father’s. They still melt me each time I see them.

Halting me for a moment, I watch her take everything in around her. These moments, the ones like this, when she looks up at me, her small face recognizing and knowing me, this is what I had envisioned when I thought about becoming a mother, when I grew her in my belly. But these moments are fleeting, barely satisfying me anymore. I love Harlow more than anything, but I’m exhausted. I’m afraid and I feel alone. I’m tired of hiding my despair that I’m not a good mother, or that I’m going to fail her. Even if she does melt my heart, it doesn’t stop me from questioning. Am I enough? The hopelessness grows day by day, while an unrelenting force keeps pushing me down, lower, deeper and heavier and even on the days I want to fight it, I can’t.

“Hey, Low.” I smile awkwardly and stand there not understanding how irresolute I had become.

“She seems really hungry,” Z prompts, forcing me to bend at the waist, and pick her up from her crib. I keep myself in check, needing to get through the next twenty minutes. You can’t fuck this up when you’re her mother, I remind myself as I place her gently down on the matching oak change table and focus on changing her diaper.

Even this task puts me on edge. Nix has been the one who’s been hands on the last seven weeks. I barely know what to do. It’s not that I don’t want to know, but more I don’t know how to want to. If it weren’t for the fact I’ve been trying hard to hide that I’m failing miserably at this mother gig, I would have the sense to ask Nix how he’s coping. It’s not that I don’t care how he is feeling, somewhere deep down inside of me, a small piece is dealing with guilt. Guilt for not caring enough, or for not being happy enough, hell, for not wanting any part of it. I don’t know what is happening to me. Spending my days tired, angry and in tears has become my normal. Low is everything I asked for, everything I need. So why does it feel like I have made a mistake?

Holly and my mom voiced their reassurances, suggesting I was just tired. Baby blues is what they called it. But I can’t help fear the question I keep asking myself: what if it’s more? Was having Harlow a mistake? Did I rush into things when I wasn’t ready? The same apprehensions flow through me now just as they have done the past few weeks. I can’t pinpoint the moment I realized being a mother wasn’t what I was expecting. Yeah, I read the books, searched the forums, but nothing really prepares you for what’s to come. No one tells you that having a baby could make you feel so out of control, or lonely. That small, everyday tasks would become insurmountable hurdles. No one tells you, you will spend your days worrying if you’re doing everything right, and your nights crying when you fail. But the most heartbreaking thing of all is the numbness. No one told me about the numb feeling, or that it would be the most excruciating pain I would ever experience, even if some days I didn’t care.

Shaking my head clear of the thoughts I can’t afford to have, I carefully pick up Harlow and sit down in the rocking chair that Nix’s father, Red, made for us. When we came home from the hospital with Low, our chair was waiting for us. A note attached telling me Red refurbished the same chair that Nix’s mother nursed in.

No one has ever made me a chair before, and the small act of love Red showed me makes me want to sit in the chair every day. But what I love most about our chair, is the sense of peace it gives me. It’s as if I’m chasing peace every second of my day, but when I sit in my rocking chair, the same chair I knew Nix was rocked in, peace never evades me.

“You want to give me fifteen minutes Z, then she’s all yours?” I ask Z.

“Sure.” He smiles, touching his sister’s head once more. “I’ll watch some TV.” He walks out not waiting for my reply.

“You’re not going to give me a hard time are you, Low baby?” I ask, looking down at her as she tries to pull at a stray hair which has fallen from my messy bun. Lifting my shirt, I unclasp my bra and pray to the breastfeeding gods that by some miracle, Harlow has learned how to latch on properly. Resting back, I position her in my arms and before her small pink lips encircle my nipple, the tears begin to fall because I know what’s about to happen. I know for the next fifteen minutes, I’ll endure the pain of what feeding my child does to me.  The stinging will begin as pain shoots through my breast and I won’t be able to control the sob that rips from my mouth. I know I will have to resist the need to pull her away, and vow to not feed her anymore. Then the guilt will come, guilt knowing I can’t do anything right. I’ll try to fight the discontent that weighs heavy on my shoulders. Try to keep the thoughts that this is what she brought into my life away as a small piece of hate eats away at my soul. I fight all these demons alone and broken.