Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
I’d managed to render my mother speechless.
For a second.
“Holy shit!” she yelled. “How far along are you?”
“Eight months,” I said, wincing.
Another pause. I couldn’t say it was from her being hurt for sure, but I could imagine. And I felt guilty for that.
My mother was not someone to be kept down for long, though.
“Have you got a doula?” she demanded. “Are you doing a home birth? And if you’re not doing a lotus birth, then at least delay cord clamping.”
“Holy shit, Mum, I don’t have half of what you’re talking about,” I replied.
“Oh well, it’s okay, I’ll be able to figure it all out,” she said distractedly.
I froze. “What?”
I swore I heard a click on the other side of the phone. A click that sounded like a computer mouse.
“Well, I can’t come over immediately because I have a moon circle meeting that I’m hosting, but that’s okay. It’s your first baby, so you’ll go late.” She paused. “Well, darling, of course it’s not your first baby,” she corrected. “Your others weren’t ready for this world, but they are precious nonetheless, and they were here.”
My heart clenched.
Another time my mother was there for me.
When I’d lost the third baby. When I was so trapped, alone and broken—and I’d had a bottle of wine—that I had nowhere to turn to that I’d called my mum, even though I didn’t have any experience of her showing up for me.
But she did. Show up for me then.
Another piece of her I’d buried away in order to fit my narrative.
“Wait, you’re coming here?” I clarified.
“Of course, I’m fucking coming there,” she said. “It’s my first grandchild. And my daughter will need me. I’m a certified lactation coach. Breast is best, darling, and I’ll show you just how to position the nipple—”
“Enough about my nipples, Mum,” I demanded, looking down at the nipples in question. Although I probably could use the help. The fuckers had already started leaking. “You’re coming here?” I repeated.
“Yes,” she said. “I know I should’ve come earlier. I wanted to come earlier, especially since you’ve settled in that wonderful-sounding town.” I had told her about Jupiter on one of our rare calls. “But I knew you needed your space,” she continued. “Knew you needed to heal. And as much as I missed you, it was my karma to miss you for how I failed you.”
“Mum,” I said on a sigh. “As much as I appreciate you owning up to your actions, I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“Of course,” Mum replied. “We don’t need to talk about it right now. I’m just booking my flights. This one has a layover for nine hours in LA, which is perfect because I’ll be able to pick up some uterine recovery tea that a renowned herbalist makes,” she mused.
“You’re booking flights?” I asked, M&M poised before my mouth in shock.
“Booked! I’ll be there in three weeks,” she said triumphantly. “Oh, darling, I just can’t wait. Oh fuck, I’ve got to go. I’m late for my Reiki healer. I’ll be in touch, love you!”
“Bye, Mum,” I muttered, not returning the ‘I love you.’ It wasn’t lost on me that I couldn’t say those words to my mother or my husband.
The front door slammed.
“Babe!” Kip yelled.
“In here,” I yelled back.
I didn’t get up to meet him. Getting up was harder these days, and I was still digesting what just happened.
Kip didn’t take long to make it to the nursery.
“There are my girls,” he said, smiling as he walked in, his gait easy, posture relaxed.
He looked like he always did fresh off the worksite: faded jeans, dirty tee, cap. He smelled of him and sweat and wood, and I inhaled deeply when he leaned in to kiss me. First my mouth, then my stomach.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, like he always did when he came home. Every day.
“Still pregnant,” I replied, the same thing I always said back to him. Sometimes I supplemented with ‘hungry’ or ‘horny.’ “And I just talked to my mother.” I waved my phone.
“How did that go?” Kip perched on the arm of the chair. I’d told him about her. About my childhood. Not much more about my marriage, because what else was there to say?
We’d spoken about my losses too. Not a lot. Again, what else was there to say? Plus, I worried speaking about them too much would unleash some kind of dead baby juju and leech into the perfect little girl in my stomach.
“I told her about you and the baby,” I replied.
He raised his brows.
“And she’s coming over. Here.” I looked around the nursery. “She’s a lactation consultant now.”
Kip nodded. “Well, it’ll help with breastfeeding,” he said with a fucking straight face.
I scowled at him. “We don’t have anywhere for her to stay,” I pointed out. “This was our guest room, and I’m not inflicting my mother on Calliope or Rowan and Nora.”