I don’t think he will ever fully understand what my life is like. I’m with Aubrey pretty much every waking minute. Yes, he and I are equal parents in the sense that we share equal DNA with the kid, but I’m with her all the time. I just want to talk to someone who doesn’t crap her pants every three hours.
I’d kill for some adult conversation. Last Wednesday I tried to spark up a convo with a barista at the café. I think she could sense my desperation because she nodded and smiled as if speaking to a child bragging about how old they were.
The other day the FedEx guy said, “How is everything?” and I went into a three-minute monologue about Aubrey’s sleep situation before the weird look on his face told me he was just being polite and not applying to be my therapist.
I get the feeling that sometimes David thinks I’m being dramatic about how exhausting this all is. “Just get more organized.” That’s like telling someone who’s drowning to simply learn the backstroke.
No, I’m not digging trenches all day, but motherhood is draining. I can’t nail down exactly why it’s so hard. Changing a diaper in itself isn’t difficult. Neither is feeding Aubrey or taking her on a walk.
I think what makes being a mom so hard is that it never stops. It just keeps going in perpetual motion. It’s a cycle with no end. The days of the week don’t mean anything to me. I don’t punch out. I’m never “off.” David comes home at the end of a hard day and has a sense of completion. He kicks off his shoes, throws his socks anywhere but the laundry basket, opens a beer, and sits on his recliner and plays with Aubrey. I never have that moment because I’m never done. Even when Aubrey goes down for the night, I stay on alert. She could wake up at any time for any reason. Teething. A cold. A wet diaper. I’m always in a heightened state of awareness.
There’s no paycheck as a sign of a job well done. No pats on the back from a manager. It just keeps going on and on, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
I pulled out my phone again and couldn’t resist sending a quick text to David. Almost done?
A few seconds later my phone beeped with a new message. PR crisis with the Loeman account. Don’t wait up. Love u.
No problem. Love u too, I texted back, before returning my phone to my pocket.
I felt my eyes start to well up with unexpected tears. “What’s wrong with me?” I asked, brushing them away.
I thought about calling Joy, but remembered that Sunday night is her book—i.e., wine and chatting—club. Even if I had a babysitter, her friends are the organized, always dressed perfectly, “Oh, look, I made organic blueberry muffins” type, and I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.
I’d call Mom but she’s an hour and a half away, and hearing my tone would just worry her.
The idea popped into my head before I had a chance to stop it.
Gloria?
Was I desperate enough for company that I’d call the mother-in-law who once referred to my three-bean casserole as a “cute experiment”?
Yes. Yes, I was.
I stood up and switched Aubrey to the other hip. She squawked in protest.
Dialing the number, I tried not to notice that my fingers were shaking. I held the phone to my ear.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Okay, she’s not there, I should just hang—
“Hello?” Gloria’s voice caught me off guard.
“Gloria. Hi. Hi. Um. It’s me, Ashley. Hi. Um...”
“Ashley? Is that you?”
I tried to remember why I was calling.
“Hi, Gloria. Yes, it’s me. I’m just calling because... I just wanted... I wanted to see if you were free to pop by for dinner?” I bit my lip.
The line was silent.
“Tonight? Ashley, I...”
“If you’re busy, I totally understand. I just ordered Chinese food, David’s working, Aubrey won’t let me put her down and...”
To my horror a lump started to rise in my throat blocking my words. New tears flooded down my cheeks without warning. I let out a heaving sob.
“Ashley? Dear, are you crying? What’s wrong?” Gloria sounded more alarmed than I’d ever heard her.
“I’m just tired. And a little lonely. I’m so sorry...”
Gloria’s voice was steady. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
She must have flown down the highway because eight minutes later there was a knock at the door. I’d had just enough time to splash some water on my face and pull my hair into a ponytail.
I opened it, and to my absolute surprise there was Gloria, in full makeup and hair with a black evening gown under an unbuttoned black faux-fur coat.
I gasped. She looked amazing. “Gloria! I...”
Gloria walked into the house and closed the door behind her. “I was getting ready to go to the theater with some friends from the community center but clearly you need me here.”
“I had no idea! I wish you hadn’t...”
Gloria waved in front of her face.
“Nonsense. I know a breakdown when I hear one. Tell me what’s going on, at once.”
In one sweeping motion, Gloria draped her coat over a dining room chair and took Aubrey from me. It was such a glorious relief to have my arms free. It was then I noticed that she was holding a bottle of red wine. My heart soared.
Gloria stared at me. “Well? Are you going to get us a couple of glasses?”
Ten minutes later we were sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by takeout boxes. Gloria placed a chunk of white rice in Aubrey’s waiting mouth. I took a sip of my wine.
She cleared her throat. “So, if I understand correctly, you’re exhausted, tired of being alone with Aubrey all of the time, you miss David, wish he’d help you more and want to lose twenty pounds but are unwilling to exercise.”
I stared at the ceiling trying to remember if I’d missed anything.
“That’s about it, yes.” I nodded furiously, taking another long sip. “It’s just that, I thought motherhood would be more fulfilling. I’m here with Aubrey every day, watching her scoot around on the floor or holding her all over the house—and there’s nowhere I’d rather be—but I’m bored. I have no one to talk to. David is busy with work. I’m just...”
“You’re just a mom,” cut in Gloria. “You feel useless and essential at the same time. You feel like everyone is doing a better job than you and that nobody understands what you’re going through.”
I stared at Gloria with my mouth agape.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
Gloria reached her chopsticks into the Kung Pao chicken and popped a bite into her mouth.
“Dear. We all felt like that.” She sipped her wine. “David was the first baby I’d ever held. I remember being so surprised when the nurse let us take him home after I had him. I was terrified. Back then, dads made the money and moms did all of the child raising, so I was completely on my own. Then, when David Senior passed away when the kids were just ten and eight...well...I was really on my own.”
I looked into my wine. I tried to imagine what that must have been like, raising two children on your own while navigating your own personal