Chapter 8 - Lily Was Born Early, and Helen Would Not Hold Her
At thirty-seven weeks, my blood pressure rose sharply.
My obstetrician recommended:
delivery.
Lily arrived weighing:
six pounds, three ounces.
Healthy.
Small.
Furious.
Perfect.
Rebecca came to the hospital the next afternoon.
She cried the moment she saw her.
“Can I hold her?”
“Yes.”
She held Lily.
Kissed her forehead.
Then whispered:
“Hi, little thief.”
I froze.
Rebecca immediately realized.
“No.”
“Oh my God, no.”
“I meant because she stole my heart.”
I laughed.
Eventually.
But it showed how deeply Mom’s language had invaded:
me.
Helen visited fifteen minutes later.
Dad with her.
She stood by the bassinet.
Did not reach.
I asked:
“Do you want to hold her?”
“No.”
I felt something snap.
“Why?”
“She’s sleeping.”
“She’s awake.”
“Another time.”
Rebecca looked at:
Mom.
Then:
me.
Dad said:
“Helen’s had a long day.”
Daniel later asked:
“What the hell was that?”
I said:
“She’s still weird about Rebecca.”
“Weird?”
“Yes.”
“Margaret, she looked at Lily like she hated her.”
I became angry at:
him.
“Don’t say that.”
Why?
Because if Daniel was right, then I had to decide what:
a mother who hates your newborn
means.
I was six hours into no sleep, postpartum, bleeding, exhausted.
So I chose:
weird.
Smaller word.
May you like
Easier problem.
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