Chapter 16

8 0 0
                                    

 Copyright (c) 2015 Phyllis Zimbler Miller

All rights reserved.

NASA report blames itself, the Beech Aircraft Corp., and North American RockwellCorp. for the near-fatal explosion that aborted the Apollo 13 mission. -- June 15, 1970

St. Louis 1970

     "You'll have to arrange for all the childcare," Steve says as we drive south towards St. Louis. "The research for my thesis is just at a vulnerable point and I can't let up. I'm not sure I can be of any help with the baby."

     I don't cringe. I knew this before I got pregnant. In fact, I welcome it this way. I alone can mold my baby. I won't have to fear what terrible environmental characteristics Steve might pass on. Maybe even his genetic characteristics can be blunted with the right early influences.

      "I'll take care of everything," I say.

***

      The baby's cries wake me at 3 a.m. Marcia hasn't slept through the night since she was born. She's now six months old and sitting up, but still not sleeping well. The pediatrician says to let her cry for a few nights. "Believe me, she'll learn to sleep through the night."

      But I can't do it. Can't stand to let Marcia cry for longer than a minute or two. I brought this child into the world; I'm responsible for making her life as good as possible.

      For a moment I think of the child I chose not to have. But only for a moment.

     I glance at Steve. He doesn't hear the cries. He can sleep through anything. Besides, I promised him that I would take care of everything. And I will. If only I weren't so tired.

     I can't take Marcia into the living room and watch television while feeding her because the sofa is occupied. Laura is here from Madison. "Helene is home, alone, on school vacation as the time isn't right to tell her parents about us yet," Laura said when she called. "So can I please come visit? The apartment seems so empty without her."

     Of course I said yes. A little adult company will go a long way. How many times a day can you say "goo, goo" to a baby's gurgling without losing your mind?

     Laura meets me in the doorway of the baby's room. "I'm sorry you were awoken," I say.

     "I was up already. I couldn't sleep."

      I bring Marcia out into the living room and join Laura on the sofa. Marcia sucks hungrily.

     Laura says, "Isn't it amazing how breastfeeding goes in and out of fashion? How historically class and status got all mixed up with what's best for the child?"

     I nod. "It's so easy. I can't imagine having to waste time with sterilizing bottles and nipples and mixing formula."

     "Feeding our dolls was a lot easier," Laura says. "And they only ate when we wanted to feed them. They were the perfect companions." Her eyes squeeze together.

     "How are things going with Helene?" I say. "You haven't said anything."

     "I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind." Laura punches her pillow into a bagel shape, then smooths it out.

     "Then what shall we talk about?" I hesitate. "I know! Our favorite topic from childhood -- the horrible Marjorie Brandstein now Marjorie Satinsky."

     "She seemed pretty tame when we were together in Chicago. Maybe motherhood will mellow her," Laura says.

     I switch Marcia to the other breast. "I'm not holding my breath. She manages to get in some juicy gibes every time I see her. It's her personality."

The Nature of LoveWhere stories live. Discover now