Baby Love(20)

There, there now. . . Perhaps I had slapped that f*cking rash right off of her butt. Trey would have no reason to bitch at me about it anymore! He could no longer accuse me of being a negligent mother.

She continued kicking and screaming on her changing table. Fuck it! If she wanted to lay there diaper-less and pitch a fit so be it. I was going to get dressed. I left her on the changing table in her room, and made a hasty retreat back to the master suite so that I could find something to wear in my closet.

I searched for something 'non-mommy' to wear. I was sick to death of nursing bras and shirts that were constantly getting soaked with breast milk whenever the little shit started whining and crying. I wanted to look and feel sexy again, not like some wet-nurse with tits hanging down to the knees.

I found a pair of tight jeans in my closet and pulled them up over my still slim hips and flat stomach. I rummaged through my closet drawers and found a sexy black top with a built in push-up bra. With my larger breasts it revealed a whole lot of cleavage.

Breast-feeding did have its advantages I supposed.

This would be perfect to wear out to the construction site this afternoon. I had to meet with the contractor about the flooring in the main hallway and he was ten shades of sexy.

I had noticed how he had watched me whenever I went out to the site as long as Trey was not with me.

Once dressed, I scooted into the bathroom to put my make-up on and fix my hair. As I looked up into the mirror over the sink I was startled to see the face of my mother looking back at me from the reflection. I looked around the bathroom to see where she was lurking.

(What the . . .?)

I turned back to the mirror and blinked my eyes several times before I realized that the reflection in the mirror was me - but I now looked just like my MOTHER!

Just then I heard the muffled sound of glass shattering. It had come from down the hallway. It sounded like it came from Preston's room. Damn! What had the little shit gotten into now? I couldn't recall whether I had locked the rails up on the side of her changing table before I had left her room.

I hurried down the hallway to her room. I gasped as I looked over at her changing table and saw that it was empty. My gaze lowered to the carpeted floor beneath the changing table. She had fallen from the table onto the floor. She had broken into hundreds of pieces like a china doll.

Trey appeared next to me in the doorway; he was going to hate me for what I had done. I turned to him sobbing and crying. A smile was plastered on his face as if he were a statue that had no other expression other than the one he currently wore.

“I’m sorry Trey! I didn't mean to leave her on the changing table. Please, please - help me put her back together again!"

I was on my knees, trying to gather up the broken pieces of Preston. Trey continued to stand there like a statue not bothering to help me.

"Tylar! Tylar! What are you doing? Stop . . . you need to stop!"

My eyes looked back up finding him gazing down at me. We were no longer in Preston's room. We were on the bed in our room. His statue-like expression was gone. It had been replaced by one of fear and confusion. It was familiar to me now as I came out of my dream-like haze.

I had seen that same expression on his face every night for the past three nights. He reached over and flicked the switch on the lamp next to the bed. My face was covered with sweat. My breathing was quick and shallow. I looked up at him not masking my fear with the unanswered question.

"She's fine. She's in her bed right where you tucked her in earlier, Tylar."

His tone was different. He was exasperated; anyone could see that. For the first time I noticed the dark circles underneath his eyes. He had not been sleeping well, mostly because I had kept him up intermittently each night with these horrible nightmares that seemed so real.

"I'm sorry, Trey," I said softly. "It's just that I had this horrible dream about -"

"I know Tylar," he snapped in frustration.

"Please spare me the details. It was just another one of your f*cked-up dreams like all of the others."

He lowered his head, rubbing his hand over his forehead and raking it back through his sleep-tousled hair. Trey's mom was due into Atlanta in the morning to stay and help out with the baby - truth be known, I knew that Trey had conveyed to her his concern about me and my paranoid mental state.

I couldn't be blamed for what I had dreamt; I did think that Trey had had his fill of me not seeing someone about them. He had been prodding me to talk to my OB/GYN to see if the dreams could possibly be attributed to post-partum depression. He wanted me to get help.

I couldn't tell him that this dream was different than the others. I was sickened by it.

This was the first time I had dreamt of hurting my baby; this was the first time I had ever dreamt that I was my mother.

"Trey," I said softly, waiting for him to look at me.

I felt so damaged.

He looked over at me, his gorgeous eyes tired and drawn; he was still rubbing the back of his neck in utter frustration and helplessness. He cocked an eyebrow waiting for me to say what I had to say.

"I will get in touch with the doctor tomorrow, I promise. I will find out what is going on and if Dr. Addison feels that it is beyond his expertise, I will have him refer me to a psychiatrist. I promise you that Trey. I am so very sorry that this has been happening."

"Sweetie," he replied with a sigh, drawing me closer to him.