February 13, 2004

February 13, 2004 - 11:33 p.m.

I lay sandwiched between child and cat. Fur on one side, bright eyes on the other. Siana has been waking up every two hours since 7:00 p.m. Before she arrived I did Martha-like stuff in the kitchen with cherry stamps and paint. Tried a wall treatment in the living room to rectify its current Marshmallow Peep color. Then the baby arrived, still attached to one of her mom�s turgid nipples. The rest of my plans hushed into silence. Poker tonight? Nope, Babymomma took the car seat with her. Scrub the kitchen floor? Nope, baby�s scooting needs constant watching.

When she first started to cry, I curved her head into the slope of my neck. Walked over to the marine tank and sat precariously on the ottoman, still displaced from last weekend�s carpet disaster. She caught sight of the royal gramma, neon purple with a golden rear. For ten minutes the darting fish and filter bubbles were all she could see. The tears dried up. Then suddenly her forehead shrank into fold and the screaming began again, funneled directly into my right ear.

She ate, applesauce and rice cereal. Burped. Farted. We took a bath together, me careful to keep the water lukewarm while she twisted in my arms. Lay down on the bed propped up by pillows, creating the ramp that�s her preferred way to sleep. I sang codas to choir-learned folksongs, trusting that their simple chords would soothe. She slept.

I went back to the tub, hot this time. She woke. And slept. And woke again. It�s almost midnight now. The child will not go to sleep. She lies in the dark, tossing and murmuring half-words. I hold her. Sing. Wonder if I�ll sleep at all tonight. Wonder what time her mom will come by tomorrow. Wonder what�s wrong with me. I was in the room when this little girl was born. She crowned, stretching her mother more than you�d imagine possible � and they rushed us out of the room, but not before I looked back to see a head force out, covered in blood and mucus. Welcome to the world, Siana. She screamed seconds later, her umbilical cord cut, foot tapped for blood work. This is it, I thought, and we rushed back into the birthing room, ready to meet the child we�d all been praying for. If anything would make me want children, it would be meeting this one. Except it didn�t happen.

I love this baby. But I cannot find it within me to want a child. I�m learning to love Scratcher�s son, too. But he will never be mine�and some part of me isgrateful for that. I cannot find it within me to want a child. Tonight, while Siana was at her worst, red faced and full of rage, I just thought, I could put her down and walk away. I know that most new mothers have these thoughts. But unlike them, I don�t get those baby-urge contractions in my uterus when I�m around kids. I love them. I entertain them. And then I go home. And I feel as if I am flawed in a big, central way � as if somehow I�m not fully female.

Everything in me, raised by feminist parents � screams out that this is ludicrous. I don�t have to have children to be a woman, my history says. I can parent when friends need help. I can be a step-mom to a boy who already has four sets of grandparents. But still the irony is horrible, that someone like wench can so passionately long for a child, yet be deprived � and then there�s me, perfectly able but unwilling. There�s also a pressure that�s growing as I get older. My co-workers are all married or divorced with kids. There�s a look on their faces when I admit that having kids is not part of my plans. Sometimes it�s pity; I�m missing out on what really matters. Or it�s disdain; what, I�m better than everyone else? What wrong with me, that I�m not married and having kids? How did I go so wrong?

I don�t know, I want to tell them. I just know that I�m damaged.

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former / latter