I brushed aside every cutting remark and kept telling myself not to take it personally. Looking back, I should’ve realized there would eventually be a point where I simply couldn’t take any more.
The nursery clock glowed 5:00 a.m. when Onica finally settled against my shoulder. I swayed gently in the same old rocking chair where I’d once fed Bradley three years before. My phone alarm would soon remind me it was time to pump before grabbing a shower.
A small voice drifted in from the hallway.
“Mama? Is it morning-morning or nighttime-morning?”
“It’s shhh-morning, buddy,” I whispered back. “Go crawl in with Daddy. I’ll come get you soon.”
“Daddy’s snoring.”
“I know, sweetheart. He’s very good at it.”
Tiny footsteps padded away, followed by a soft thump and silence. I closed my eyes for all of four seconds before Onica hiccupped herself awake again.
By seven, I stood in the kitchen pumping beneath my blazer while stirring oatmeal one-handed. My laptop sat open on the counter, already loading the marketing presentation for my nine o’clock meeting.
I’d gone back to work only weeks after Onica’s birth because my husband, Carl, had lost his job during the company’s latest round of layoffs.
Carl wandered into the kitchen, hair sticking out in every direction, phone already in his hand.
“Coffee ready?”
“You’ll have to make it,” I said.
“Rough one?”
“She was up at two, four, and five.”
“You’ll have to make it.”
He grunted, kept scrolling, and instinctively angled his screen away when I looked over.
Probably sports highlights.
Or maybe job listings.
I chose to believe it was the second option because questioning anything else felt exhausting.
“Alice dropped by yesterday,” I said, trying to brighten the mood. “She brought chicken casserole and said I looked exhausted. But she said it kindly… like she actually cared.”
“Yeah, Alice is good like that.”
“Steve got lucky.”
“Mm.”
Carl never looked up from his phone.
On my way to grab Bradley’s shoes, I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror.
A stained hoodie.
Yesterday’s ponytail.
Once upon a time there had been a woman who wore heels to Friday dinners and put on lipstick just to take out the trash.
She was still somewhere inside me.
Probably asleep.
After dropping the kids at daycare, I slid into my meeting with barely thirty seconds to spare.
I kept repeating the same reassurance I’d clung to for weeks.
I’d carried Carl through losing his job.
Now it was my turn to lean on him.
That’s what marriage was supposed to be.
That evening, after finally settling both children, I collapsed onto the couch beside my husband while he watched television.
“Long day,” I said.
“Yeah, mine too. Job stuff,” Carl replied.
“How’d it go?”
“Slow,” he answered. “Hey, babe. Not to be a jerk, but once things settle down, maybe you should really think about going to the gym. You’ve gained a lot of weight lately.”
I slowly turned toward him.
“Sorry?”
“I just mean, Alice makes it look so easy. The classes and everything. Might be good for you.”
Alice was Carl’s new sister-in-law—Steve’s wife.
I laughed because crying into a spit-up-covered throw pillow seemed even worse.
Between work, sleepless nights, a newborn, a three-year-old, endless laundry, meals, and cleaning, every hour already belonged to someone else.
Somewhere along the way I’d stopped taking care of myself.
I’d forgotten what going to the gym felt like.
I’d forgotten makeup, dresses, heels…
There simply wasn’t room for any of it.
“Carl, I haven’t peed alone in three years.”
“I’m just saying.”
“I know. It’s fine.”
I let it go because I convinced myself he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded.
Back then, I convinced myself of a lot of things.
The next several weeks blurred together.
I pumped in parking lots before meetings, reheated leftovers while bouncing Onica on one hip, and answered Bradley’s endless dinosaur questions before I even managed to take my shoes off.
Carl, meanwhile, perfected one routine.
Sitting on the couch.
“Did you send out any applications today?” I asked one evening while stepping over another pile of laundry.
“I’m networking,” Carl answered without lifting his eyes from his phone.
“With whom?”
“People. It’s not something you’d understand, Nina.”
Like always, I let it pass.
The comments about Alice started as occasional remarks before becoming routine.
Over breakfast.
During coffee.
Even while I changed diapers.
