Colin moved into the guest bedroom on Day Four.
Theo’s crying kept him awake.
He had returned to work early.
Not because his employer demanded it.
He had six weeks of paid leave available.
He took six days.
I asked why.
“I’m losing momentum.”
“What momentum?”
“Work.”
“Your son is six days old.”
“He has you.”
I stared.
“And who do I have?”
He smiled as if the answer were obvious.
“Mom.”
I wanted him.
Not Marcia.
Not a nurse even.
My husband.
He kissed me.
“I’m right here.”
Then walked to the guest room.
At two in the morning, I fed Theo.
At four.
At six.
At six-thirty, I cried because one breast hurt.
At seven, Marcia entered.
“Up.”
I hated her.
Then hated myself for hating someone who had made soup.
That was how the mind works when care and control arrive in the same person.
