BABY BLUES

Briana Robertson

“Roxy? Roxy. Roxanne!”

I barely glance away from the television. “What?”

“Can’t you hear Josiah crying?”

“Oh, Josiah’s crying?” I roll my eyes. “Of course, I can hear him crying. That’s all he’s done all day.”

I feel my husband’s gaze, heavy with shock and disapproval, but I don’t turn to meet it. Instead, I stare pointedly at the TV screen, watching, but not really seeing, the rerun of Dark Angel.

“So, you’re planning to just sit there and let him cry?”

“He’s fine, Eli. He’s been fed, he’s been changed, and he’s been played with. He’s worn out and fussy, and he needs a nap. It’s not going to hurt him to cry it out.”

“He’s only nine months old, Roxy.”

“That’s old enough to start breaking bad habits. Besides, I needed a minute.”

“Where’s Addison?”

“In her room, I’m assuming.”

“Assuming? You mean you don’t know? ”

I grab the remote, hit the pause button, and flop around to face my husband of nearly eight years. “Where else would she be, Eli? You act like I’m being irresponsible.”

He says nothing; rather, he simply lifts a brow.

Suddenly, I’m infuriated. “You know what? Screw you. You’re not the one who stays home with the kids every day. You have no idea what’s it like to have them crawling all over you, every second of every day, always crying or whining or begging for something. You get to go out into the world. You get to see people over the age of five. You get to hold intelligent conversations with rational people whose favorite response isn’t always ‘why?’ You have moments alone. You have twenty-minute drives home where no one bothers you. You know who doesn’t have any of that? Me! So, excuse me for trying to take fifteen minutes for my damn self!”

I fling the remote onto the seat of my recliner, stand, and stride toward the door. Eli reaches out and tries to stop me.

“Roxanne, wait. I’m sorry, I—”

I swing around, my eyes blazing. “Just leave me alone.” Marching down the hall, I enter our bedroom, and slam the door. Somewhere deep inside my brain the thought that I’m overreacting nags, but I shut it out.

He has no idea, dammit. No fucking clue. He thinks it’s so easy to be a stay-at-home parent; that I’ve got it made not having to work like he does. What I’d give to be able to leave the house for eight hours straight, just once, and not have to worry about changing a dirty diaper, or wheeling and dealing with my overly picky five-year-old just to get her to eat, or doing whatever happens to work on any given day to get both of them to nap at the same damn time.

I pace around the bed, fumes pouring off me. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the wall, I come to a halt and take a long, hard look at myself. My hair is thrown into a sloppy ponytail; strands have come loose and hang in tangles around my face. Dark circles ring my eyes, and I still have the double-chin caused by the baby weight I put on with Addison over five years ago.

This isn’t me.

I’m still two months away from thirty, for chrissakes. I should not look like a forty-six-year old hag. Before I can stop myself, I grab the first thing I see, which happens to be a coffee mug still bearing the dregs of this morning’s joe, and fling it as hard as I can against the wall. It shatters with a satisfying crash, and the leftover coffee splatters the wall like a burst paintball.

Suddenly overcome with horror and exhaustion, I collapse into a heap on the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks and sobs ripping from my lungs. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and rock, back and forth, a come-to-life seesaw that has apparently lost its fucking mind.

Eli bursts through the door. “Roxy? Roxy!” He drops to his knees beside me and pulls me close, murmuring words I either can’t hear or don’t understand. All I comprehend is his arms around me; tossed around in a raging sea, I’ve been thrown a life jacket, and I latch on to it for dear life.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it, Eli. I’m sorry.” The sobs come even harder now, as though they’re trying to wrench my lungs free. I try to breathe, but the air in the room seems to have evaporated. I bury my head deeper into his chest, which makes no sense given the breathing situation, but I’ve given up on shit making sense anymore.

“Shh. It’s okay, Roxy. I know.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, it’s not your fault—”

“You don’t have to apologize—”

“He was fine, Eli, I swear. I wouldn’t have left him alone if I thought he wasn’t okay. You have to believe me.”

“Roxy. Roxanne. I know. Okay? I know you wouldn’t. And he is fine. He’s asleep. You were right. He was just tired. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped on you about it.”

“I know I’m not the best mom, but—”

“Hey. No. Don’t even say it. You’re a great mom, Roxy. Our kids couldn’t ask for a better one. You hear me?”

When I don’t immediately respond, he nudges me. “I’m serious. You hear me, right? You understand what I’m saying to you?”

I nod, but I’m still not convinced. Not completely. I try so hard. I do. And I want to believe I’m a good mother, but so many times—all the time, if I’m being completely honest—I feel like I’m failing my kids. I just don’t know what to do about it .

“Good.” He leans me back to kiss my forehead, then pulls me close again. “I love you, Roxy.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

When he releases me to stand, I don’t have the strength to support my head; I simply fall forward until I run into my knees. “I … I’m just so exhausted, Eli.”

The next thing I know, he’s lifted me off the floor and is setting me down on the bed. “I know, sweetheart. Just lay here and rest for a while, okay? I’ve got the kids.”

“Okay. Except, I need to pull something from the freezer. I forgot to do it earlier, and if it’s going to have time to thaw …” I glance around, looking for the clock. 1:15 . Shit. At this point, it probably won’t. Not if we want to eat at a decent hour.

“Don’t worry about it, Roxy. We’ll order takeout. You want pizza or Chinese?”

“But—”

“No buts. Just relax, and let me handle things today. Okay? Now, pizza or Chinese?”

“Chinese.”

“Orange chicken and crab Rangoon?

“Sounds good.”

“Good. Now stretch out, close your eyes, and get some rest.”

He pulls the comforter over me, then heads for the door. I can hear Addison calling, and I have to fight the instinct to immediately get up. Eli says he has things under control. Take the break and say thank you, Roxy.

So I do. I send a mental note of thanks, then snuggle into the comforter’s warmth. Within moments, I’m fast asleep.

***

“That’s the best you can do? Six weeks? Yes, I’m sure you have a lot of patients … No, I don’t think that, I just … Look, I’m just trying to help my wife, and six weeks is a long time. What? No, she’s not suicidal! What do you mean, ‘am I sure’? Of course, I’m sure! Because she’s my wife. Look, I think I of all people would know if my wife was having suicidal thoughts. What? No, the kids aren’t in any danger. What the hell is wrong with you? No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be profane. It’s just … sir, please. I just want to help my wife. She’s going through a really tough time, and I think she needs to talk to somebody about it. Yes, I understand that. Yes. Yes. Okay, fine. We’ll take the first appointment available. Yes, alright. We will. Thank you.”

I hear my husband muttering angrily, and I assume he’s ended whatever conversation he was having. I raise my arms over my head to stretch, grimacing as I hear my spine pop, then settle back against the pillows. A moment later, Eli comes through the door, then stops short.

“Oh, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“A bit groggy, but better, I think. What time is it?

“Just before six. ”

“Are you serious? Shit, Eli, why didn’t you wake me?” I throw the covers back and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

“Hey, Roxy, relax, okay? You obviously needed the rest.”

“Yeah, but the kids—”

“Are fine. Addy fell asleep a little after two and slept ‘til nearly four. Josiah woke up just after her. They both just finished dinner—he had squash, and I cooked up some mac ‘n cheese and green beans for her—and now they’re sitting in the play room watching Disney Junior. Addy wanted to color eggs, but I convinced her to wait until tomorrow so Mommy could help out.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I bribed her with an extra dozen eggs and told her I’d see if I could use my powers of persuasion with the Easter Bunny, see if he might come before church instead of after.”

“That’s quite the deal.”

“I thought so.”

We both turn our heads when the doorbell rings.

“And that’ll be the Chinese. Meet you in the kitchen?”

I just nod and watch him walk out the door. God, I love that man. I don’t know what I’d do without him. Standing up, I walk into our adjoining bathroom, splash some cool water on my face, and run a brush through my hair.

When I get to the kitchen, Eli is already unpacking plastic containers and dishing food out onto plates. Trying to sound nonchalant, I bite into a crab Rangoon and shuffle my feet .

“So … who were you on the phone with?”

He glances up at me and winces, then turns back to the food.

“You heard that, huh?”

“Was it Dr. Allen’s office?”

“Yeah. Look, Roxy, if you don’t want to go, we can cancel the appointment. I just thought it might be good for you to talk to somebody … if you wanted. I mean, if you don’t, obviously, I don’t want to force you. I mean, I won’t force you, you know that. But lately, you’ve been … well …”

“It’s cool, Eli.”

“What is?”

“That you called. You’re right. I’ve been …” I gesture, and without words, we both know what I mean. “It’s worse than when Addy was born, isn’t it?”

The look on his face tells me he doesn’t want to agree with me. But there’s no point in denying it.

“Yeah. It’s worse.”

I nod. “Then I’ll go see Dr. Allen.”

He tries to hide his sigh of relief, and I pretend not to see it. I’ve obviously been putting him through hell lately, and that’s the last thing I want. I’ve never liked the idea of going to a shrink, but if that’s what it takes? I might not do it for myself, but for my husband? My kids?

I can do it for them.

“Oh, I meant to ask you earlier. You were home earlier than you said you’d be. Everything okay? ”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. A couple of my appointments got rescheduled and I didn’t have any laboring moms today, so I came home early. The nurses know to page me if something happens. Guess we got lucky, huh?”

I think of the nearly four-hour nap I just had and smile. Damn lucky.

***

The scent of lilies permeates the air as we step into the church, and I have an instant headache. Josiah squirms in my arms, pulling at the tiny, purple bowtie around his neck and fighting to get down. I tighten my grip and grind my jaw. The morning’s already been trying, and so far, it’s not looking to get any better.

Despite Eli’s persuasive powers, the Easter Bunny didn’t show before church, and Addison has done nothing but whine and complain and cry about it since she got up. Now, she is pulling at Eli’s arm, adorable in a lilac and pink flowered pinafore, already asking if it’s time to go home.

It’s going to be a long service. Fuck .

A stray thought pricks, warning it’s probably not the best idea to mentally curse in the house of the Lord, but given how the day’s gone so far, I’d like to believe He’ll forgive me. That’s what He does, right?

Although, I should probably feel sorry for it first .

Whatever. I’m too exhausted to traverse the nuances of theology right now.

We find a seat near the back. Eli turns and engages in conversation with the couple behind us, exchanging “good mornings” and “Happy Easters” and “how ‘bout this sixty-degree weathers.” I let Josiah’s diaper bag slide off my shoulder and nudge it beneath the pew in front of us, then set him next to me. Immediately, he tries to climb down. And by “climb” I mean he leans forward into a headfirst dive toward the floor. I grab him and pull him back, only to be rewarded with a scrunched-up face, accompanied by a shrill scream.

“Josiah, hush.” I glance around, praying I don’t meet any judgmental eyes. The service hasn’t started yet, of course, but the organist has started to play and Pastor Dunst is hovering near the front of the nave, checking his watch and fussing with his stole. I reach into the diaper bag, pull out one Josiah’s teething rings, and offer it to him. He promptly grabs it and throws it on the floor, all the while continuing to scream. He’s thrashing now, too.

I grit my teeth and fight the urge to scream myself. Before I can say another word, Eli reaches over and picks the baby up, bouncing him on his knee. Josiah instantly calms, clapping and giggling. Traitor.

I grab my bulletin and have barely opened it when Addison tugs at my skirt. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

I close my eyes and suck in a breath. After a short second, I open them and try to reason with my five-year-old. “You just had breakfast, Addy. ”

“But I’m starving!”

“You had five pancakes.” I don’t even try to keep the exasperation out of my voice.

“I know. Can I have a snack, though? Please?”

“Addison, you don’t need anything else right now.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“Well, you’ll just have to be hungry until church is over and it’s time for lunch.”

“But Mommy—”

“No, Addison.”

Her lower lip slides out into a picture-perfect pout and her eyes well up with tears.

“Don’t even start, young lady. Do you hear me? Or I’ll take you out of here and give you something to cry about.”

With a huff, she sits in the pew and crosses her arms. Shaking my head, I go back to the bulletin. Moments later, the bell tolls. Eli turns, Josiah in arm, and reaches for a hymnal. I pull one free myself and turn to “I Know My Redeemer Lives.”

For the next fifteen minutes or so, I’m able to lose myself in the beauty of the service, despite the lily-induced headache. The hymns are uplifting, the liturgy familiar, the Bible readings no less beautiful and moving for having been heard time and again. By the time Pastor Dunst steps into the lectern to begin his sermon, I’m feeling almost light, and the closest to content I’ve been in a very long time.

“Mommy, I have to go potty. ”

The moment shatters, a gorgeous stain-glassed image now nothing more than shards of colored glass.

“So, go to the bathroom, Addison. You know where it is.”

“But I want you to come with me.”

I lean down, trying to keep my voice low. “Addison, you don’t need me to come with you. You’re perfectly capable of going to the bathroom by yourself. Just make sure you wash your hands and come straight back here when you’re done, okay?”

“No, Mommy. I need you to come with me!” Her voice raises nearly two octaves on the “eee” of me. I shut my eyes and inhale deeply, fighting for composure.

“Roxy.” Eli whispers to me over Addison’s head. “Just take her to the bathroom.” I meet his gaze as he cocks his head, raises his eyebrows, and minutely gestures with his head toward the front of the church. Seriously? Censure? Coming from him? Why can’t he take her to the bathroom? Why do I have to miss the sermon?

I know the answer, of course. She’s a girl, so I should take her; let’s ignore the fact that it’s a single, family bathroom. Moms take daughters, dads take sons. It’s just the way it is, and who cares how fucked up it might be.

I bite my tongue, rise as inconspicuously as possible, and take my daughter by the hand. I spend the next ten minutes standing outside the door—because she wants me with her, but God forbid I actually watch her—waiting for her to poop, which she swears she has to do.

Finally, she comes out .

“Did you flush?”

“I didn’t go.”

“Excuse me? Addison, you said you had to go to the bathroom.”

“I know. I thought I had to, Mommy, but I guess I didn’t.”

A picture of my hands around her throat flashes through my mind for the barest of split seconds before it passes, and I mentally shake myself. She’s five, Roxy. She’s only five. As every other parent has ever told me, better safe than sorry. I’d rather waste the ten minutes than have to clean up an accident in front of everyone.

We’ve barely made it back to the pew and sat back down when Eli’s pager goes off. I look at him and raise my eyebrows as if to say, “Really? Now?” He can’t help it, of course, and I know that, but seriously? Easter morning?

He ducks his head, climbs over me while simultaneously passing me Josiah, and heads for the back. Pastor Dunst has finished his sermon by this point, and the organist begins to play while a number of elders send fake gold-plated plates up and down the packed aisles to collect the offering.

A moment later, Eli returns, leans down, and whispers in my ear.

“I have to go.”

I look up at him, my eyes wide with shock. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. Roxy, I’m so sorry. Amy Sharpe went into pre-term labor. Doctor Varrow says her placenta is ripping away from the uterine wall, and she needs emergency surgery. They’re prepping her now. ”

“But what about the kids? It’s Easter. What about—” I glance surreptitiously at Addison, who luckily isn’t paying much attention, then turn back. “—Addy’s basket?”

“Go ahead and let her have it. Don’t change the plans just because of me. I’m not sure how long I’ll be, and I want the kids to enjoy the day.”

“What about me?” The petty question is out before I can stop it.

He purses his lips, and his eyes narrow. “Don’t be like that, Roxy. Of course, I want you to enjoy the day, too. And you know I want to be there with you. I can’t help the timing, and you know I have to go. It’s my job.”

I feel about two feet tall, and yet I still feel somewhat justified in my frustration. Unfortunately, Eli will only find one of those reactions acceptable.

“I know, Eli. I’m sorry. I just …”

“I know. And I’m sorry, too.” He leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips. “I love you, and I’ll be home as soon as I possibly can.”

I nod, then watch as he races out the back door.

“Where’s Daddy going?”

“He has to go to the hospital, Addy.”

“But it’s Easter.”

“I know. But one of his mommies is having a baby, so he has to go.”

“But it’s Easter. ”

Amusement wars with frustration. Oh, to once again have the logic of a child. “Yes, baby, I know. But mommies sometimes have babies on Easter. Just like Christmas.”

She considers this for a moment. “Like me?”

“Yes, sweetie, just like you.”

“So, you mean a doctor like Daddy had to be there when I was borned on Christmas?”

“Yes, Addy. And it’s ‘born,’ not ‘borned.’”

“Born on Christmas.”

“Right.”

“Did that daddy have kids like you and Daddy have me and Josiah?”

“He might have.”

“And he had to leave them on Christmas. Just like Daddy’s leaving us on Easter.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

She sits for a moment, lost in her own little world while the elders take the offering up front and Pastor Dunst begins the prayers. He’s just finished when she tugs on my skirt again.

“Mommy?”

“What, Addy?”

“I guess it’s okay Daddy has to go to work on Easter.”

My heart swells with pride, and I lean down and hug her as close as I can while still holding Josiah.

“I love you, Addison. ”

She may drive me nuts the majority of the time, but it’s worth every second for moments like this. She’s smart as a whip and has a huge heart, and I love her for it.

I promptly forget that ten minutes later when, at the altar for communion, she reaches out for a small cup of wine—which she damn well knows she’s not supposed to do—catches the elder off-guard, and causes him to drop the entire tray of wine.

Chaos ensues as glass shatters and spilled wine goes everywhere. My cheeks burn so hot, for a moment I have an irrational fear I’ll actually catch fire. It passes quickly, and I drag Addy away as quickly as I can. Getting back to the pew, I pack up the diaper bag, tossing things in haphazardly, and with Josiah in one arm and Addy’s hand in the other, I march out the back, exceedingly aware of dozens of pairs of eyes watching me go.

The ride home goes something like this: I scream at Addy for misbehaving. She starts crying because I yelled at her. Josiah starts crying because Addison is crying. I shout at them both to stop crying. Addy cries even louder. Josiah tries to top her. I briefly consider running the SUV into a telephone poll. Or off a bridge. That is, if there was a bridge in town. I turn the radio up. They pull an NPH—as in, challenge accepted. I scream at them to shut up.

Two minutes before pulling up to the house, they do. Because they’re both asleep. Which means I now have to wake both of them up .

Putting the vehicle in park, I lean forward and bang my forehead against the steering wheel hard enough to have tears smarting in my eyes. Dammit .

Getting out of the car, I pull the back door open and nudge Addison awake. Immediately she starts to fuss. “I don’t want to get out of the car. I’m tired.”

“I know, sweetie. But we’re home. We have to get out.”

“I don’t want to!”

“Do you want to go see if the Easter Bunny made it?”

She barely perks up at this, but the question does get a grudging “I guess.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, slides off the seat, and drags her feet all the way into the house.

As soon as I jostle Josiah, he wakes up, and true to form, begins to cry. I settle him on my shoulder, bouncing and shooshing him. It does no good. By the time I reach the door, his half-hearted cries have turned into full-blown shrieks.

The horrible, exhausted part of me is tempted to set him on the floor, run into my bedroom, and lock the door. But of course, I can’t do that, much as I might like to. Good mothers don’t leave their children unobserved. I think about the other day, when Eli found me watching TV while Josiah cried. They don’t do it much, anyway.

Setting the baby on his playmat, I head for the kitchen. Addy finds me there, preparing a bottle.

“Mommy, the Easter Bunny hasn’t been here! ”

“Give me just a second, Addy. Let me take care of your brother, and then we’ll—”

“Daddy said he would come while we were at church. He promised. Daddy’s a liar!”

“Addison Marie!”

I turn around and smack her lips. “You do not talk like that! Do you understand me? I will not tolerate it. I know what your Daddy said, and I am telling you, I need to take care of your brother, and then we’ll figure it out. Got it?”

She doesn’t say anything, just begins to sob.

“Knock it off. I didn’t hit you that hard. I can give you something to cry about if you want.”

“No!”

“All right then. Now, go into your room and I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”

She turns and heads out of the room, and I could almost swear I hear her murmur “I hate you” under her breath. But we don’t use the word ‘hate’ in our house, so how would she know to say it? More likely, I’m channeling my own inner dialogue.

You shouldn’t have hit her, Roxy. Bull. She shouldn’t have talked to me like that. Calling her father a liar. That shit’s not acceptable. She’s only five. That’s old enough. She’s tired, and probably missing Eli, and disappointed. It’s normal. I don’t care .

Part of me is tempted to not give her the Easter basket Eli and I put together. Then again, that’s probably just a bit harsh. Overkill. I smacked her, and that got her attention. It’s enough.

Walking back into the living room, I lay Josiah flat and hand him his bottle. He pushes it away and continues to cry.

My headache is back in full force now, pain pulsing behind my eyes like the thumping bass in any run-of-the-mill nightclub. I fist my hands in my hair and pull, fighting the urge to scream. Inhaling deeply, I pick him up, settle him on my shoulder, and begin to sing.

It takes two and a half times through Phil Collins’ “You’ll Be In My Heart” from Tarzan , but he finally calms down.

“Good. Okay. Will you sit for a minute now, while I take care of your sister? Huh?” Josiah gurgles and giggles at me, lightly smacking my face. “Crazy child.”

I bend over and set him on the floor. As soon as his butt hits the carpet, his face wrinkles and he hollers. I groan as I grab his stuffed bear from the couch and lay it next to him.

“Sorry, buddy, you’re just gonna have to deal with it for a minute.” Leaving him where he is, I head down the hallway toward Addison’s room. I’ve gone two steps when she bursts out the door of my bedroom.

“Mommy, he came! The Easter Bunny came! Do you know where he left my basket? In your room, Mommy! It was just sitting there on your bed. He didn’t do a very good job of hiding it. I mean, I barely had to look for it. Why did he put it in your room, Mommy? That’s kind of silly, isn’t it?”

In her hands is a bright pink basket, overflowing with springtime toys and Easter candy. My heart pounds and I feel my cheeks warming.

“Addison, what were you doing in my room?”

The tone of my voice obviously clues her in that something is amiss. She hesitates, shuffles her feet, and then says, “I was looking for you, Mommy.”

“Were you supposed to be looking for me?”

“No.”

“Where were you supposed to be?”

“In my room?”

“So why weren’t you in your room?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“Didn’t I tell you go to your room?”

“Yes.”

“So why didn’t you go to your room?!”

“I’m sorry, Mommy! I’m sorry!”

What started as a fairly calm conversation has led to me yelling at the top of my lungs and my daughter crying. Again.

Fuck.

Exhaustion washes over me. I’m too tired to fight with them anymore.

“Just take it into the living room, Addy.”

“I can keep it? ”

“Go, before I change my mind.”

“Okay.”

She tiptoes past me, then races into the living room, hollering over her shoulder. “Mommy, Josie’s crying!”

I’m aware. And damn, I wish you wouldn’t call him “Josie.” I hate that nickname!

With slow deliberation, I turn and walk back into the living room. Addison is on the floor a few feet from Josiah, ripping through the Easter basket, throwing things every which way.

“Addison, honey, please try not to make a mess.”

“Yes, Mommy.” She doesn’t look up. A jump rope flies past, followed by a butterfly-shaped container of bubbles.

“Addison. Quit throwing everything everywhere, or I’m going to take it away. Do you hear me?”

She looks up at me, her head ducked in what she hopes is chagrin, and very carefully places a bag of pastel M&Ms next to her lap.

Grabbing the remote, I flip the TV on and pull up Netflix.

“Can we watch Daniel Tiger , Mommy?”

“No, Addison. I’m turning on something for me.”

“Aww …”

I shoot her a glare as I flop into my recliner, and she immediately quiets, returning her attention to her basket. I’m two minutes into Easter Parade when I hear Addy yell.

“Josie, no! Stop it! Give me that! ”

I turn in time to see her swipe a glow stick from Josiah’s hands. A full second doesn’t pass before he shrieks in anger.

“Addy!”

“Sorry, Mommy, but it’s not his, it’s mine.”

“That doesn’t matter, Addison. You don’t need to be mean.”

“Waaaaahhhhh!”

“Oh, Josiah, stop it.”

“I didn’t mean to be mean, Mommy. I just don’t want him messing with my Easter stuff. He’ll ruin it.”

“Aaaaaahhhhhh!”

“He won’t ruin it, Addison.”

“But—”

“Waaaaahhhh!”

“Oh, good Lord, Josiah, shut up!”

I pull him roughly into my arms and bring his face to mine. “Just stop it, okay?” A stunned silence falls as both my children stare in response to my outburst.

“Mommy, you said …”

“Yes, Addison. I know what I said.”

“But Daddy says we’re not supposed to say …”

“I know, Addy. Just finish going through your basket, okay?”

She turns back to the array of goodies in front of her, remaining silent. Josiah leans sharply to the left, reaching for something on the end table beside my chair .

“No, Josiah.” I hand him one of the numerous infant toys littered throughout the house. He promptly throws it on the floor, then leans toward the end table again.

“No!”

“I think he wants the jellybeans, Mommy.”

“Well, he can’t have the jellybeans.”

“But maybe he likes them.”

“He’s too little for them, Addison. No, Josiah!”

I slap his hand, and again hand him a toy. He flings it across the room and screams. The toy hits a beer bottle Eli has left on the coffee table. The bottle topples, and stale beer spills out over the carpet.

“Dammit!”

I jump up, plop Josiah into the chair, and run for a towel. Racing back into the room, I sop up the spill. The bottle has rolled beneath the table, so I lean down to grab it. Coming back up, I knock my head on the table’s edge.

“Shit!”

“No, Josiah! Stop it!”

He’s slid off the chair, crawled across the floor, and is grabbing Addison’s basket again. “Mommy, make him stop!”

“Dammit, Josiah!”

Letting the towel fall in a wet heap, I lean down to grab him and fight a wave of dizziness. I return him to the chair, then reach for the towel.

Crash !

Josiah is on his feet, one hand braced on the arm of the recliner, the other stretched out toward the bowl of jellybeans. Eli and his damn jellybeans. Why couldn’t he just leave them in the bag?

The lamp, only moments ago on the end table, is now on the floor, the lightbulb shattered.

Suddenly, I can’t do it anymore. I’m done.

“Fine. You want the fucking jellybeans? Have the fucking jellybeans!” I grab Josiah, plunk him on the floor, and set the dish of candy next to him. Then I head for the hallway. I stalk into my room, fling myself onto the bed, and stare at the ceiling.

My mind is a swirling twister of blankness. Nothing registers. Nothing matters anymore. I just lay there, unable—or maybe unwilling—to move.

Time passes. Hours … Minutes … I don’t know. A portion of my mind seems to break free, and I can see myself stretched out across the bed, my eyes wide yet unseeing.

That small part of me hears Josiah coughing. It’s a wheezing, wracking cough, almost as if he’s struggling for breath.

You need to check on him, Roxy.

I can’t.

Moments later, my bedroom door squeaks. The detached part of me watches Addison rush in, terror shining in her blue eyes, worry radiating from her waif-like body.

“Mommy, something’s wrong with Josie!”

The coughing has stopped .

“Mommy, Josie’s face is blue!”

I don’t answer.

“Mommy! Get up!”

She grabs my arm with her small hands and shakes. I watch from above as she tries desperately to get me to respond.

Roxy, he’s choking!

“Mommy, Josie needs help!”

Roxy, get up!

“MOMMY!”

Tears are streaming down Addison’s face as she continues to shake me, her fingernails digging deep and leaving tiny crescent moons indented in my skin.

I don’t move.

“Josie! Josie, wake up! Wake up!”

Addison has left the room, leaving me alone.

Yes. Leave me alone. I just need a fucking minute alone.

“Um … My little brother needs help. I … I don’t know. He tried to eat a jellybean. He’s little … Um … ten months. I think. No, nine. He’s at work. He’s helping a mommy have her baby. She’s on the bed. She won’t get up. I tried to get her up, but she won’t. Please, my brother needs help. I don’t know the address … I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me. Okay. No. No, I won’t hang up the phone. Thank you.”

She’s such a big girl. My big baby girl. But she’s still crying. I wish she would stop crying. I hate to hear my babies cry .

Sirens blare and a moment later, there’s a knock on the door. I hear Addison open it.

Dammit, Addy. You’re not supposed to open the door for strangers.

The sound of hurried activity comes from the other room.

“You did a good job, Addison. Where’s your mommy?”

“Asphyxiation.”

“One, two, three four.” Pause. “One, two, three, four.”

“He’s gone.”

The click of a door.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Sir, do you live here?”

“Yes. What’s happening? Oh, God. Josiah? What happened to my son? Addy! Where’s Addy?”

“Sir, please, I need you to calm down.”

“I tried to get her up, Daddy. I told her Josie needed help. But she wouldn’t come.”

“Where is Mommy?”

“She’s lying in bed.”

“Sir, I need you to wait. Sir!”

I hear his pounding feet. “Roxy?”

I manage to turn my head, my eyes fixed on the door as it swings open. “Roxy. ”

The truth shines in my tear-sheened gaze as it meets his, and his knees give out. I hear the thud as they hit the floor, followed by a single word. It’s my damnation.

“Roxanne.”

The End