There's Something Wrong with the Baby

CW: Mental health, physical violence

“I love you so much. I can’t wait for this baby to come,” Matty rubs my burgeoning belly as the tapers flicker. He made me dinner. Rose petals on the floor. Sparkling grape juice in our wedding champagne glasses.

“I love you, too.” I do, really. I never thought I could love another person this much, but I do. He cooks. He cleans. He asks how he can help me. I’ve never met a more perfect man.

“We have dessert waiting, tiramisu.” He smiled and hurried to the fridge, returning with my favorite dessert and two spoons.

“I’m already as big as a house,” but take a spoon anyway.

“Don’t be silly. I love you no matter what.”

“When Madeline arrives, you won’t have to lift a finger. I can’t wait to take care of her, to take care of you.” He stares into my eyes, and I see his soul. We really are soulmates.

***

My water breaks in his Tesla. He laughs. I laugh. We can’t stop laughing. Somehow, this is the funniest thing that has ever happened in both of their lives.

The hospital is close. I feel the baby pushing on my lower pelvis. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just uncomfortable.

Thirty-four hours later, they slice the skin between my vagina to my anus, no pain meds because Matty and I agreed that a natural birth was best. The pain sears through me. Flashes of white light flicker in front of my eyes. I feel heat from inside me coming to the surface. Sweat poured down my face, burning my eyes.

“Push!” The doctor says. I try, but I can barely even breathe.

“You have to push, babe,” Matty says, tears in his eyes, a smile on his face.

I close my eyes, feeling a spinning sensation, and push. One more time, Madeline.

A tiny scream breaks the mundane sounds in the room, and I pass out.

***

My eyes flutter open. Matty is asleep in the chair next to the window. A pink baby lies in the bassinet next to the hospital bed. That must be her. She’s…not what I expected. I pictured Matty’s hair - curly and brown, like suede. She has auburn hair. I’d hoped she would have Matty’s dimples, but her cheeks and chin are smooth. I can’t say I’m not disappointed.

***

We, Madeline and I, stay in the hospital. I lost a lot of blood, and Madeline has jaundice. Matty visits once a day. He talks to Madeline, but she ignores him like he ignores me.

After he asks “how do you feel,” every time, he kisses the baby, kisses my cheek, and leaves. Loneliness wraps around me like a blanket, scary but somehow comforting, like I should be lonely, like the feeling is right.

For two days, I cry. I cry more than the baby. The time away only gives my brain time to come up with different scenarios for why Matty has been so distant.

The options are: he’s overwhelmed, stressed about the new costs of the baby, us being stuck in the hospital, a mistress…

***

We finally walked in the front door of our apartment in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. Vanilla and spice hung in the air, a lovely departure from the sterile bleach scent of the hospital. The baby sneezes. My heart pounds. Is she allergic to something in our home? Candles? Vinny’s long golden dog hair covers the furniture, rugs, and every other surface. I asked Matty to vacuum before we came home, but maybe he forgot.

“Go ahead and take a nap,” Matty says, taking the baby carrier and diaper bag from me. I kiss him. He barely acknowledges it. I’m too tired, too tired to talk about it now. My body feels like it is full of sand, heavy and unstable.

As soon as I lie down, my mind reels. My body feels so empty. My little pouch is hollow, and even though I love Madeline, I feel like something is missing inside of me, like a part of me was removed, but it belongs there.

The baby cries. I can hear her. It starts as a soft whine to a roaring, wailing scream! I jump out of bed and run to her, stubbing my pinky toe on the door frame.

“What’s wrong?” I say louder than I intended.

Matty looks up from the TV screen. Digital zombies stand frozen with people around them with guns and swords.

“Nothing, she’s fine. Go back to bed.” He pushes play, and the game starts again, the volume so loud that my ears vibrate.

Madeline screams, and somehow, it muffles the noise from the TV.

“Matty, she doesn’t like the noise,” I scoop her up, holding her close to my body. Her smell, sweet and slightly sweaty, sends a wave of relaxation through me.

“You’re not supposed to pick her up every time she cries,” he continues with his game.

“According to who?” I bounce and shh her as I walk back toward the bedroom.

“My mom.”

“Your mom gave you shots of peppermint schnapps for strep throat. I’m not taking parenting advice from her.”

I bring her into our bedroom. Her diaper is dry, so I set her up to breastfeed when Matty walks into the room.

“Oh, so I couldn’t have helped her anyway,” he said as he threw his hoodie into the hamper, baby spit-up on the sleeve.

“Could you rinse that first?”

“Why?”

“So it doesn’t smell if I don’t get to the laundry soon.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll do laundry tomorrow.” He winked and left, closing the door behind him.

Madeline let out a light snore, her lips releasing my breast. She’s sleeping, but I haven’t burped her. Do I burp her asleep? Do I wake her up? I don’t know. I put her head on my shoulder and pat her back as a tiny burp pops in my ear.

We lie down and soon we are both asleep.

***

When I wake, Matty is snoring next to me. At first, I roll over and close my eyes, but then, like a bolt of lightning, I snap upright. Where is the baby? Is he on her? Am I? Frantic, I push on him.

“Where is she?!” I scream.

Matty, groggy and still half asleep, says, “she’s in her crib.”

Her crib. In her room. The room that still needed to air out from his mother painting it while I was in the hospital giving birth.

I sprint to her room just across the hall. Motherly instincts push my broken body to her. The paint fumes are faint, but she is so tiny, and her lungs can’t handle chemicals yet.

She doesn’t wake when I pick her up and bring her into the living room.

The clock over the TV reads 12:34 a.m. I sit gently, slowly on the squishy couch. I’m still sore, my genitals burn, but I can’t stand any longer. I lay Madeline in the bassinet next to the couch, and quickly, I am back asleep.

***

Madeline cries. I wake up. Madeline sleeps. I sleep. Matty does whatever he wants. I watch as he wastes his time playing video games and going to the gym while I cook, clean, change diapers, breastfeed. And Matty does NOTHING!

I try to drop hints like, ‘I’d really like to shower,’ and my ever-helpful husband says, “So, take a shower.” I put Madeline in the bassinet and carry it into the hall. It’s too big to fit in our bathroom, so I leave the door open as I take the quickest possible shower, not even letting the water heat up before I jump in, so she isn’t alone long.

***

Colic, the doctor says her crying day and night is colic. I read about it, but I never expected her to have it. I truly thought, ‘my kid won’t get it.’ Now we are here, Madeline and I, as she cries relentlessly.

Matty bought noise-cancelling headphones. He said, ‘I have to sleep. I have to work all day. I can’t do that running on no sleep.’ I take care of Madeline and Vinny on no sleep. I clean the house on no sleep with a screaming baby.

I pace Madeline’s bedroom, from the window to the closet on a loop, like a scratched record. The movement is the only thing that soothes her.

The sun rises, turning her walls from a pale pink to a yellow. I count the spots on the wall where Matty marked to hang the nursery decor, but still hasn’t.

“I’m so stressed out, babe. I just need to relax,” he says when I ask about it.

The marks are arranged in a pattern, like a connect-the-dots puzzle. Mentally, I draw a line. It makes a squiggle.

***

She finally falls asleep. I lay down on her floor, knowing she won’t sleep for long - too tired to walk out of the room.

“Babe, what are you doing?” Matty stands in the doorway, dressed in a different suit and tie from the ones he wore to work.

“Sleep.” I can’t even say words. Too…tired.

“We have the banquet tonight. I reminded you yesterday,” he snaps at me. “All of the upper management bring their spouses.”

“I know, but I just had a baby.”

“That can’t be an excuse for everything,” he slams the bedroom door closed. A moment later, the front door slams shut as well. Madeline’s response is a bloodcurdling scream.

***

Madeline settles down early - 11:30 p.m. I take a shower, my first in five days. I feel human again, slightly.

As I climb into bed, keys jingle. Matty is home. I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

“Babe,” he flicks the light on in the bedroom and throws his suit jacket on the floor. “You missed a great party.” His pants fall, and he tries to pull them off with his loafers still on his feet.

“Please turn off the light,” I squeak out.

“I need to be able to see. God, you are so selfish sometimes.”

Tears fill my eyes, but I hold back as one runs down my temple and lands on my pillow, leaving a stain. He turns the light off, and a second later, he climbs into bed. I turn the other way, away from him. His arm wraps over my deflated stomach. The skin hangs, and he fondles it.

“Ha, what is this?”

The tears explode along with a howling sob as I run from the bed into the bathroom. I just had a baby. His baby! He knew my body wouldn't be the same. He said he’d love me no matter what.

“Babe, come on,” he slurs his words as he leans against the door. “I was joking.”

“Leave me alone,” I say through sobs, and he does.

An hour later, I open the door to hear him snoring like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

I sneak into the baby’s room. She’s still asleep, thank God. I take the stuffed bear from the corner and use it as a pillow. It’s more comfortable than I expected. As I close my eyes, Madeline screams.

***

It’s been days since I’ve gotten more than three hours of sleep. I move like a zombie through my routine. Sleep when Madeline sleeps. Wake when Madeline wakes. Cry when Madline cries.

We hide in her room when he comes home. He doesn’t disturb us most nights. But one night, I lay on her soft bedroom carpet, my new bed with my teddy bear pillow, her asleep beside me on the floor. The moon shines right into the room, illuminating the dots on the wall. We’ve been home for two weeks. He still hasn’t put the decorations on the wall. I don’t ask about them anymore. I know it won’t make a difference.

That’s when I notice the words on the wall. The dots in the moonlight form letters, moving letters. As soon as I make out one, it disappears, and a new word forms.

“There’s…something…wrong…with…the…baby…”

Madeline sleeps, quiet, her chest rising and falling. Nothing is wrong with the baby. I rub my eyes, looking for the words, but they are gone. The moon must have shifted. Why do the dots think there is something wrong with the baby?

***

Madeline stayed awake almost the whole night. When morning comes, she finally settles down and sleeps. I’m about to lie down with teddy when the bedroom door opens slowly.

“Hey,” Matty, his hair a matted mess, stubble on his face, the odor of day-old booze seeping through his pores, stands in his dirty gray sweatpants and no shirt.

“Yes?” I whisper. I don’t want to wake Madeline. We can’t wake Madeline. Just thinking about her waking up screaming brings on the tears.

“I’m sorry.” He looks at the floor, not in my eyes.

“Ok,” I don’t know what he’s sorry for, but I don’t care. I don’t know what day it is. Or how many weeks old my daughter is. I certainly don’t know what he’s sorry for.

“Can we talk?”

“Now?” I whine.

“I really need to talk to you.” He finally makes eye contact. Something in his eyes, they are big and sad, something I’ve never seen before.

I exhale and use the glider to stand up.

We go into the living room. I sit. He paces. Energy is vibrating off of him, stress? Anxiety?

The words on the wall pop into my head again. I have to tell him. Maybe he knows what’s wrong with the baby.

“There’s something wrong with the baby,” I say just above a whisper. My mouth is dry, sticky. I realize I haven’t spoken in days. When was the last time I drank anything?

“What? No, she’s fine. She’s sleeping.”

“But the moon - “

“I have to say this.” He stops pacing and looks at me. “I had an affair.”

“There’s something wrong with the baby,” I say again. He looks at me strangely. I don’t understand.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, I have to go back.” I go into her room and close the door gently. I lay in a different spot on the floor, hoping to see the words again. The dots remain still, not saying anything.

My eyelids grow heavy, closing, as Madeline’s soft breathing turns to wheezing. She still sleeps.

“There’s something wrong with the baby,” the wheezing says. I sit up, squinting in the almost pitch black room.

“She’s fine, look,” I say.

“There’s something wrong…with the BABY!” The voice screams. My ears fill with blood. It rolls like a tide from my ears and floods the room. I run into the living room.

“Matty!” I scream. “Matty!” He doesn’t respond. I hear the wheezing again.

“THERE’S” scream, “something,” whisper, “WRONG,” scream, “with” whisper, “THE BABY!!!”

I spin toward the sound. A dark figure smiles and walks into her room. I look for a weapon. He can’t have her. She's mine. I grab a steak knife off the counter. Remnants of food are crusted in the edges and grooves.

I run through the waves of blood as it fills the room. My legs move slowly, like I’m walking through quicksand, but it’s the blood. It’s so thick, so sticky.

“I’m coming!” I scream to Madeline, pushing with all my might to get through the waves to her when the figure turns the corner. He has the baby.

“There’s something wrong with the baby,” his voice crackles like wood burning. Madeline lays her head on his shoulder. He’s made of black ash. Flakes of the ash fall off of him as she moves her head just to the left.

“Madeline! I’m coming !” But I’m not coming. I cannot lift my feet anymore. The blood is too heavy, too viscous, and I’m so tired..

My eyelids flutter. Maybe if I lie down just for a minute…

The ash man rushes toward me. He’s calling out my name, as if it will lure me to him. If he got close enough, I could grab my baby, and we could be safe.

He grabbed my arm, chunks of his burnt black ash sprinkling down into the crimson waves. He whispers, “there is something wrong with the baby.”

Now is my chance. I grab for the baby, she screams. He grabs my wrist, trying to turn it in a direction it doesn’t want to go. I scream. Madeline screams in response. She’s trying to tell me something. Then I hear it again, the wheezing.

“There’s something wrong with the - “ it pauses, “the baby.” I know what she wants. She’s right. We won’t be safe until we destroy the ash man. I lay her in the basket that floats on the blood river, grab his arm, ash blackening my fingers and stab him.

“Babe, no!”

His blood comes out black. Demons howl as they fly from his body all around the room. He grabs me with his free hand, trying to take the knife from me. He wants to stab me. I won’t let him. I jab the knife through his gut, pushing it in as far as it will go. His body swallows the knife and my hand. I won’t let go. I won’t.

Madeline screams, but I can’t help her now. I must finish this so we will both be safe.

The ash man lets go of me, flakes of him falling into the bloody lake. My hand is covered in black soot and something red and sticky.

The waves engulf him and the tide goes down with the dawning of the sun. Madeline coos from the corner.

“We’re safe,” I tell her, my throat sore from screaming. The dots say it again, there’s something wrong with the baby.

I shake my head. She’s perfect. We lay on her plush pink carpet and finally, we sleep.