Drew holds Caroline as two paramedics lift you. They bring you to a chair and give you water and crackers. You’re able to nod or shake your head to their many questions about chest pain and shortness of breath. Drew is feeding Caroline a bottle of formula. You don’t know where it came from. Toxins. Corn syrup. GMOs. This is your fault. You couldn’t even do the most basic thing, feeding your baby. Anthony knew you’d be a bad mother. Caroline would be better without you, you think. Drew would be, too. He doesn’t even know you.
You should end it while he still thinks well of you, and before you damage your child. But then what, Drew raises Caroline alone? No, he’s still young, and this is Manhattan. He’d end up with someone else. A stepmother for your baby. You can’t do that to her. You can’t let her grow up thinking you didn’t love her enough to live. You need to hold her. You lift your arms. “Give her . . .”
Drew looks to the paramedics. “Is that a good idea?” he asks. You decide right then to keep your mouth shut about everything you’re feeling. They could take her away from you.
“Please,” you say. “I’m okay. I’m sorry. I’m just exhausted and I didn’t eat enough today. Please, I need to feed her.” You point to your leaking breasts, and the young paramedics look away from you, embarrassed.
Caroline sleeps in your bed that night. At some point Drew moves to the couch. You’re afraid to fall asleep. You’ve been warned about co-sleeping. You’re terrified of crushing Caroline, but more terrified to be apart. And the crib isn’t without danger. Nothing is without danger. The dresser. The blinds. The outlets. A blanket. A battery. A grape. The only thing soothing you is watching her little chest rise and fall with life. You cannot, you will not, take your eyes off her.
For the next two weeks, you wear Caroline in the baby carrier whenever you’re not lying down with her. While you awkwardly wash dishes, while you use the toilet. Showering doesn’t happen. You don’t read, or look at your phone, or watch TV. You just watch Caroline. You’re not hungry, but you force yourself to eat because you need calories to make milk.
The day you’re supposed to return to work comes and goes. You don’t open your laptop or answer calls from your boss. Drew tries every day to talk to you, and you tell him to leave you alone. Sometimes you scream it. He wants to hold Caroline, but you can’t let go of her. You allow him to touch her while she’s strapped to you in the carrier, if he’s washed his hands. Even then you worry about what he may have picked up at school or on the subway. You want him to disappear. He doesn’t love her like you do. He leaves every day and believes she’ll be fine. His ignorance to danger is yet another danger.
You’ve been leaving the bedroom less and less. You fall into Caroline’s schedule. Sleeping eighteen hours a day in three-hour increments. You order rails for the bed so she doesn’t fall out, and this is where you spend most of your time now, in a crib for two. Nursing, sleeping, and eating. The room smells sweet and rotten. Bundled diapers litter the floor.