Читать книгу Confessions Of A Domestic Failure - Bunmi Laditan - Страница 8

Wednesday, January 23, 10 A.M.

Coffee is a crutch for stressed-out, joyless moms. To stay energized, I start each morning with positive affirmations and loose-leaf hibiscus-beet tea sweetened with honey from my family’s own hive.

—Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

Impossible Goal of the Day: Stay awake.

It was not even noon and I was a complete zombie. I didn’t end up falling asleep until 4 a.m. and Aubrey was up by 5. When David kissed me on the cheek and jetted out of the house, I would’ve held on to the hem of his jacket and panic-whispered, “Take me with you!” if I didn’t think I’d look like a complete lunatic. Instead, I gave him a very quick peck and felt guilty for an hour afterward. It wasn’t his fault I was struggling with this whole motherhood thing. Note to self: Be a sweeter wife and ask how business is going.

I was on my fourth cup of coffee, so while my body felt dead, my mind was racing. I felt like a coked-out sloth. Can sloths do cocaine? It’s made from a jungle plant, right? What if sloths figured out the recipe and started making it? We’d have an epidemic of drug-addicted sloths. We’d have to change their name from sloths to fasts. We’d also have to invent sloth rehabilitation centers complete with beautiful waterfalls and sloth sharing circles of trust.

I pulled out my phone. How was it only 10 a.m.? It was as if time was moving slowly to punish me for staying up too late. It was then I remembered. The Motherhood Better application. Emily was probably reading it right now in her massive Los Angeles kitchen, sitting at the counter with her five perfectly dressed children. She was most likely wearing a bone-white cardigan over a pink, lace-trimmed sundress and strappy flats. I bet she drinks her organic teas out of real china. I looked down at the plastic, lidless sippy cup I was slurping my vanilla-flavored coffee in.

I needed to win this.

Aubrey brought me back to earth by throwing a handful of Funny O’s at me. One landed in my coffee.

We had to get out of the house or I was going to fall asleep right then and there. Wait—would that be bad? Yes, time to go.

3 P.M.

I tiptoed out of Aubrey’s dark room toward the door. Turning back, I took a moment to admire her little body, splayed out on her back in the green-and-yellow pajamas she lived in these days. I closed the door slowly, stopping before it was completely shut. I’d learned the hard way that the smallest click of the door closing woke Aubrey up. Nobody tells you that babies hear like dogs.

Today turned out to be better than I’d ever imagined it could be on so little sleep. I’d made a friend! This was huge, because I was just reading about how Emily Walker believes creating your mama village is an essential part of happy motherhood. Of course, the mom friends who show up on her blog all look like freelance models, but who cares? We were all the same on the inside. Of course, their insides probably had no cellulite but that’s neither here nor there, either.

Here’s how it happened. I was sleep-shopping at BabyOutlet (spending money helps me stay awake) and the sweetest-looking mom with her four-year-old son in tow approached me out of nowhere and asked how old Aubrey was. Everyone knows that inquiring about the age of a baby is how moms break the ice. I must have been letting off some seriously positive vibes because we talked right there in the six-to-twelve-months girls’ section for fifteen minutes and exchanged phone numbers! She raved over Aubrey and said that her cousin’s best friend’s stepsister’s daughter didn’t get her first baby tooth until ten months and that it’s totally normal. Her name was Isabel and I loved her.

Get this. She’s already texted me and invited me to a playdate for the following day. I was practically giddy and would have done a cartwheel if I’d had the energy. I was only two chapters into Motherhood Better and was already about to meet my group of probably lifelong mom friends. My own mama village—as Emily called it.

I could already imagine how we’d spend afternoons together drinking tea (wine), laughing, baking bread, making double casseroles so we could trade, gardening, telling secrets...and then when our kids grew up and married each other we’d all go on epic road trips in between meet-ups with our grandchildren who were practically all related. Okay, maybe that last part was a little creepy, but I was excited.

As I was walking down the stairs, being careful to avoid the two that creak, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was Isabel.

Just wanted to let you know you can bring friends tomorrow!

How sweet! If I’d had any other friends, I certainly would have. I texted back that I’d ask around, which I did. I asked around the living room. There was no need to tip her off that I was a loner.

I curled up on the couch and flipped on the TV. Soaps. Soaps. And more soaps.

It didn’t matter, though. Within thirty seconds I was asleep.

9 P.M.

David was brushing his teeth in the bathroom when Isabel texted me to let me know that there would be gifts at the party tomorrow.

My shoulders did a little dance as I sat in bed. Gifts? Maybe this was her circle’s way of welcoming me into the fold. I was going to bring my famous Lemon Poppyseed Cake. Technically, it was Joy’s famous Lemon Poppyseed Cake, but nobody needed to know that I stole the recipe off my sister’s computer after she stole my baby name.

David stepped out of the bathroom in his blue-and-white striped pajama pants and white tee and saw me grinning.

“You met this woman where, again?” he asked, sliding into bed next to me.

I frowned. “David. This is how moms meet,” I said, trying to sound like I’d done this before. “If I get any weird vibes or if she sacrifices a lamb on the front lawn, I’ll get right out of there. I’ll go back for Aubrey the next day,” I teased.

David smiled and slithered his way up the bed toward me like a crocodile. He was in a great mood today after winning a bid to handle the PR for LuxSpecs, a high-end line of sunglasses.

He reached for me and wrapped his arms around me, massaging my back.

My danger alarm went off, and I gave him a quick shoulder squeeze.

“Watcha doing there, buddy?” I asked.

He purred in my neck. I knew exactly what he was doing, but seeing as how I’d just gotten Aubrey to bed fifteen minutes ago and hadn’t had a chance to shower since...she was born, not to mention spending a day being drooled and spit up on, I felt about as sexy as an ingrown toenail. We really should have sex soon, it had been too long. Just not tonight.

“David, David,” I said, backing away from his neck nuzzles. “I haven’t showered in forever. I feel like a moldy dishcloth. Rain check?” I felt terrible. Minus-twenty wife points.

“Awwww,” he said, and kissed me tenderly. His lips were so soft. Those lips. I loved them the minute I first kissed him, all those years ago in the rain outside of our office building. We’d been friends for three years and neither of us knew that the other had been harboring feelings until that kiss.

I kissed him back and sighed, remembering the simpler days when my hair was clean and we could spend an entire Saturday morning snuggling in bed.

He pulled me into a spooning position and began exploring my body with his hands. I yelped self-consciously when they grazed my stomach. I still couldn’t bear him feeling the loose kangaroo pouch Aubrey had left me with. Hot shame shot down my spine and I covered my abdomen with my hands, protecting it from his.

He sensed my discomfort and placed his hands over mine. “Hey,” he said, in the most gentle voice I’ve ever heard him use. He touched my face and whispered into my ear. “You’re beautiful. All of you.”

Butterflies danced around my stomach and I felt so moved, tears welled up in my eyes. I loved this man. I turned toward his warm body, gazed into his brown eyes. He meant it. He really did think I was beautiful. I kissed him and almost heard the rain from that evening so many years ago hitting the pavement.

Thirty seconds later we were breaking our dry streak. It was fantastic—it always is, even with me insisting that the lights stay off lest my jiggles be seen. Afterward he hugged me tight, as if afraid to lose me again to the world of mother.

“I miss you,” he whispered into my ear. Tears sprang into my eyes again. Dang hormones. I missed me, too.

I wished I could promise him that I’d be this person, this loving, giving, sexy person again tomorrow night or the next night, but I couldn’t. I tried to squash the feelings of guilt swirling around my psyche.

I kissed his cheek. “I know.”

He turned over and fell fast asleep. Normally I would, too, but I couldn’t quit my thoughts.

I tried to think about something else. My very first playdate. Tomorrow.

I decided to dress Aubrey in her pale pink jumper and heather-gray top with the matching gray booties. She looked like a baby model in that ensemble. It was made by some fancy Italian designer. Joy gave it to me as her way of apologizing for #BabyNameGate.

I’d actually tried to invite Joy. After all, Emily Walker wouldn’t be worried about Joy stealing her friends. Emily Walker would be secure in her friend-getting abilities and say, “The more the merrier!”

But, of course, Joy had to get all weird. “You met this woman while discount shopping and are going to her house?”

You’d think I was taking Aubrey to an abandoned meat warehouse at midnight. Classic Joy. She decided against coming, which was fine by me. Anyway, she had tons of friends from her scrapbooking club, book club and cookie swap. I’d asked if I could join the cookie club once, but all of the cookies have to be homemade so it wasn’t a good fit.

I wiggled in bed a little, getting myself comfortable.

I was almost asleep when I heard David say, “Do you smell yogurt?”