Heās crying, iām trying to fill out a report and heās crying for some reason. Heās been fed, he has a clean nappy, iām giving him cuddles and bouncing him. Iām trying so hard to focus on what iām writing but keep making typos and loosing track of where i am in in a sentence.
Without looking i reach for the rattle in front of me, i shake it and it grabs his attention, for a moment he is quiet. For a moment i can think and breathe.
Then heās crying again, i shake the rattle again, it doesnāt work this time, iām trying to tune him out without fully dissociating so i can fill out this damn report, but the fog is rapidly closing in. Heās still crying, i shake the rattle continuously hoping it will work. He cries harder, i shake the rattle harder. The more he cries the more aggressive i get with the rattle. I just need to get this done.Ā
All of a sudden he shouts, loud and frustrated, it sounds feral, it makes me instantly pause. Itās a sound iām much too familiar with, i recognise my own anger in him, and it worries me. I stop shaking the rattle and he swats it out of my hand. Fuck. I look at him, shock and guilt followed by a suffocating numbness. What am I doing?Ā
Heās not crying any more, just frustratedly trying to wriggle free from me. I put him down on his mat on the floor, and he instantly begins to cry again. What does he want? I donāt understand!Ā
I kind of just sit there, watching him fuss about, i know i need to do something but i donāt know what, i canāt move. Iām stuck just watching him like that, feeling utterly helpless. I donāt know for how long.
āWhatās his problem?ā I snap out of my daze and look up. Heās finally finished his shower.Ā
āI donāt know, heās been fussing ever since you leftā.
āDo you want me to make him a bottle?ā
āNo. I need you to take him. Please, please get him away from me.ā
He frowns and picks up our son, still wet from the shower, steam wafting off his skin, long hair slicked back. He still looks like a sex god, despite gaining some weight around his hips and middle, and once upon a time such a sight would have had me mad with lust. But now i feel nothing. Maybe slightly relieved, now that he was holding the baby.Ā
When was the last time i showered? Or even brushed my hair?
Heās stopped crying now, and i stare at him, completely content in his fatherās arms, chewing away at his hand. I guess he must be teething, he really shouldnāt be yet, but heās ahead in all his other milestones so why the heck not.Ā
I get up without a word, and i feel their eyes tracking me as i leave for the kitchen. I donāt know why iām here. I stare at the sink, used bottles and breastpumps sitting on the side. I want to smash my skull into the kitchen cupboard, repeatedly. Itās at perfect eye level. Maybe if i hit my head hard enough it might clear up a bit and actually start working.
Instead, i stand there, completely motionless. What is it i was trying to do again? What am i doing here? I splash my face with some cold water from the tap. Arms wrap around me from behind and i fight off the urge to flinch. A warm damp chest presses against my rigid back, I let it happen.Ā
āHe was just tired. Iāve got him asleep on the couch.ā
I sigh. Of course. I shouldāve known.
āYou should get some restā, he tells me quietly. I shrug him off, there are things I need to do. Things iāll probably not end up getting to do, because of the baby, or because I'll get stuck staring at an empty corner of the room for a few hours again. But at least the intention to get something done is there, I suppose.
Heāll get home later this afternoon and realise, once again, that I haven't really accomplished anything at all. Heāll pretend to understand, pretend not to be disappointed that iāve not got anything planned for dinner, and heāll make himself some 2 minute noodles and hop on the game for the rest of the night.
āI need to pumpā, i reply. I start mindlessly rinsing the pump i used earlier that morning, before either of them had even woken up. I feel him shift in place behind me.
āCan you make sure to eat something at leastā, he pleads with me quietly. I nod, not looking back at him.
It hurts me probably just as much as it hurts him, and I wonder, is this how things are doomed to be for the rest of our lives? I also know itās my fault.Ā
I donāt know how to fix it.
