Chapter2
“Wah-”
I released my very first cry into this world, raw and piercing.
It was loud and long, threaded with panic and indignation.
My father immediately fumbled, patting my back awkwardly while turning to my mother with desperate hope. “Charlotte, she’s hungry-should we try nursing?”
My mother’s body stiffened, and she still didn’t look back.
“I have no milk,” she said.
“How can that be? Didn’t the doctor-” My father’s sentence was cut off by a sudden, eager voice, creaking with age.
“Michael-come let your grandma hold my precious granddaughter!”
Grandma had arrived.
She came in wearing a padded navy coat, her hair perfectly in place, her face glowing with joy.
She took me from my father, murmuring little pet names-“my heart,” “little darling”-as if she would never stop.
Grandma’s arms were warm and soft, smelling faintly of sunshine and soap.
My tense little body relaxed a fraction in her embrace.
“Oh, my poor baby is crying so hard-must be hungry,” Grandma fretted, then looked to my mother. “Charlotte, feed her. Nursing is best for her at this stage.”
Charlotte turned slowly, her face drained of color.
She stared at me with a hollow look, as if she were looking at some stranger detached from her life.
“Mom, I really don’t have any,” she kept saying.
“Nonsense. What mother doesn’t have milk?” Grandma’s brow tightened and her tone grew sharp. “Are you refusing to feed her? Charlotte, this child came from your body-you cannot-”
“Mom!” My father cut her off. He stepped over and gently patted Grandma’s shoulder. “Charlotte just gave birth-she’s weak. Let’s not push her. I’ll go mix some formula.”
He hurried out with a bottle and formula in hand.
The delivery room fell into an uneasy silence, leaving only my small hiccuping sobs.
Grandma cradled me and sighed, softening as she looked at Charlotte. “I know you’ve been through so much, but the baby is innocent. Look how tiny and helpless she is.”
Charlotte’s lips trembled, but she said nothing and turned her head away again.
I understood. It wasn’t that she had no milk-she had simply decided she didn’t want to form any bond with
Breastfeeding was the most intimate bond between a mother and her child.
Once it started, it was hard-if not impossible-to cut. She was terrified of a love she couldn’t sever.
Soon my father returned with the warmed formula.
The liquid slid down my throat and my crying subsided. I nursed in small, searching sips until drowsiness pulled me under.
During the days we stayed in the hospital, Charlotte hardly ever held me.
Changing diapers, feeding, rocking me to sleep-my father and Grandma handled everything. Charlotte watched from a distance with that same sad, detached gaze.
Sometimes I would wake to find her sitting motionless at the bedside, watching me with an expression I could not read.
But the moment our eyes met or I made the slightest sound, she would jump as if startled and look away- like a frightened rabbit afraid that even one more second of looking would burn her.
Going home didn’t change things.
We lived in an old two-bedroom apartment.
To let Charlotte rest, my father set up my crib in Grandma’s room.
Whenever I cried at night, Grandma would get up and tend to me.
The master bedroom door, however, stayed tightly shut.
my mother behind that door never slept. The “relief” she sought had become another kind of
I knew
torment.
Then Grandma’s old back problem-a herniated disc-flared up from the extra strain. She was laid up in bed, in pain and unable to move.
At the same time, my father’s company hit an urgent project and he had to travel for a week.
Suddenly the household was in a bind.
Chapter2
Before leaving, my Tattier 100
things here for a few days. The baby-”
“Let’s get a nanny,” Charlotte interrupted before he could finish.
Her voice was flat but carried a faint, barely detectable haste.
My father blinked, then nodded. “Okay. That’ll help you and Mom. I’ll contact the agency right away.”
My heart sank to the bottom of my chest.
She was coming.
