Chapter 6
Grace
I thought I had already hit rock bottom. Apparently, I hadn't.
The row of gray bars caging me in is the first thing I see when I open my eyes. My hip aches from lying on my side all night. My neck is sore and my arm is numb from serving as my makeshift pillow.
I vaguely register Sebastian's happy coos and when I look toward my feet, I see him in the dim morning light, gripping the wooden railing as he gnaws away at a bumper pad.
Yes, I woke up in my son's crib this morning.
This is rock bottom.
Shifting my head, my cheek presses onto the damp sheet and my heart tightens as I wonder if I cried myself to sleep again last night.
But then my vision focuses and I notice the heavy, yellow-stained diaper sitting near my head.
Ugh!
Well, that explains the urine scent wafting through the air. I scrunch up my nose at the odor as I quickly sit up and scoot away.
My son crawls over to me at a speed that is completely unjustified by the lack of urgency in his situation. “Mum-mum! Mum-mum!” He climbs on top of me cuddling his cheek to my chest.
“Good morning, Mr. Pooh…” I whisper, smiling to myself as I rub the sleep from my eyes. This boy’s affection is what keeps me going in this difficult time. If I didn’t have him with me, I don’t know what I’d do to get through this.
My mind goes to Daniel as it does every morning. I wonder if he slept last night…if he’ll take the time to have breakfast before racing in to the office…if he misses me the way I miss him.
Sebastian tears me out of my over-sentimental musings when he shoves his hand into my shirt for my boob.
“Seriously, dude?” I groan as I manoeuver out of his grasp.
I weaned him a few weeks ago but reaching for my breasts first thing in the morning is as natural to him as breathing. It seems to be entrenched in his cellular memory. And as usual, when I tell him that we’re about to go to the kitchen for his bottle, he bursts into a mega tantrum, wailing and flopping back against the mattress, his skull narrowly avoiding a collision with the siding of his crib.
And so it begins. Another morning in my household.
Neither of us gets good sleep. He refuses to stay in his crib alone and when I let him stay in my bed with me, he inevitable climbs down the mattress and starts running through the house at three in the morning. That’s how I ended up in his crib last night.
I don’t know if he’s going through a phase or if he’s teething or if he misses his dad, plain and simple, but for the past few months he’s been becoming increasingly difficult to deal with. His tantrums are incessant and he’s ridiculously clingy. I can hardly get the dishes done without having him tangled between my feet.
Every time he gets like this, I can’t help but wonder just how badly I’m fucking him up with this divorce. Is this my fault? Am I the reason for his misbehavior?
Jeez – as if I don’t already have enough to feel guilty about.
“Okay Mr. Pooh. Let’s start the day.”
I push down my guilt and scoop my flailing toddler into my arms. It’s a struggle to climb out of the crib without face-planting and body-slamming the kid on the floor but I somehow manage to pull it off.
He’s still fussing when I take him downstairs and set him in his highchair. I hand him a few toys and by the time his bowl of cereal is ready, he’s settled down enough that I can finally hear my own thoughts moving through my brain again. I stare at him as he eats. How a person can be so frustrating and so adorable at the same time? No doubt a trait he picked up from Daniel.
Sometimes, looking at my son is painful. He looks so much like his father, with his sharp nose and his penetrating stare. It gives me chills.
Completely oblivious to what I’m thinking, he looks up at me and gives the biggest grin. And my heart melts.
Now, thoughts of Daniel are running through my mind. I miss him like crazy and I worry just how badly he hates me. I try to hate him too, but it’s exhausting. Really, all I want is to feel his arms around me. I’ve got to find a way to accept that that just won’t happen.
I momentarily consider making myself a bowl of oatmeal with fruit – y’know, a responsible adult breakfast – but the leftover red velvet cheesecake muffins call out to me like a siren song.
This divorce is making me fat.
But I can’t allow myself to crumble. I have a child to look out for. If I’m a mess all day, who’s going to take care of Sebastian? The inner pep talk is meant to stiffen my spine, to make me stand tall and take control. Instead, it brings me to my knees. I break down crying again, the idea that I’m alone – a single mother – really is too much to bear. And the worst part is, I know I’ll be alone forever.
Because really, what man in his right mind would be interested in a divorcee in her late twenties, toting around an insomniac toddler fathered by a suit-wearing shark who makes a living suing people into bankruptcy?
And I couldn’t bring myself to fall in love with another man, anyway. Despite all that we’ve been through, I know that Daniel Trotten’s name is branded on my heart.
He, on the other hand, will eventually find someone new. Someone with perkier tits and longer legs. She’ll probably be younger than me, too. Maybe somebody fresh out of law school. A young, wide-eyed intern who captures his heart with her witty, legal quips and her come-hither lips and her effortlessly perfect hair. And I’ll have to run into them at PTA meetings, knowing that I have nothing to come home to but a moody teenager, a mountain range of dirty laundry and maybe a few cats.
Yeah – eventually, I’ll get a few cats. Because let’s be real – it’s over for me. I’m damaged goods. I run my fingers over my C-section scar just to hammer the point home.
Sigh…
When Sebastian is done eating and I’ve polished off three fatty muffins, I take him into the living room and collapse on the carpet as he watches his learning programs.
“The apple is red…The banana is yellow…The leaf is green…”
Shit, it’s the second Saturday of the month. That means that Daniel will be here sometime this evening to pick up Sebastian. My prospects for the weekend don’t look good – dragging myself around the house in my pajamas, eating crappy food and crying myself to sleep.
#Winning
“The sky is blue…The fish is gold…The shoe is black…”
Before long, I’ve dozed off on the floor because Daniel is coming over for our son and we’ll probably find something to wage war over.
Gotta be well rested to face the battle, right?