Mother of All Secrets(8)

And here I’d been using the generic Medela bottles that had been included with my pump. Wrong move, apparently. Sorry, Clara.

“Caleb’s poop is green,” Kira announced, having gotten no help from me on the subject. “Anyone else seeing green poops? Or know why that would be?”

“Hindmilk,” Vanessa and Selena said in unison.

Huh? Kira shared my quizzical look.

“He may have a foremilk/hindmilk imbalance,” Vanessa explained patiently. “There’s different milk that comes out in the beginning of the feed versus later in the feed. If you keep him on your breast until he’s drained it before switching him, it might help. Or give him more pumped milk to even things out, maybe.”

“Totally,” Selena agreed. “I had this problem for about a week, and it almost scared me into switching to formula. Thank God my pediatrician helped me figure out what was going on.”

Yes, thank God—since formula is basically poison, right? I dreamed of using formula. I had a tub of it in my kitchen, “just in case,” that I literally looked at like I was an addict and the white powder was cocaine. But every time I thought about shaking up a bottle, it was as if I got zinged by an electrical fence, and an alarm went off that screamed “Breast is best! Breast is best!”—even though sometimes, like in the middle of the night when my nipples were red and raw after a feed, it felt anything but best to me.

“Okay, now, for the most important question,” Selena said. “How’s everyone doing with sleep? Getting any? Ha ha, that sounded dirty—which is pretty much how I think of sleep now. Sexier than sex. The forbidden fruit!”

I did my best to join the group’s laughter but had to lip-synch it. Sleep deprivation was a pretty humor-resistant topic for me at the moment.

Kira went first. “Caleb is finally, finally giving me a break and doing like, five, six hours pretty regularly. Last night I only fed him once during the night, which felt pretty manageable compared to what we’ve been doing. I’ve honestly got no problem waking up once a night. I even told my mom she didn’t have to come over yesterday to help with the baby so I could nap.” Kira laughed, but I bristled reflexively at the mention of a mom who could come over and babysit, feeling my mom’s absence so profoundly. I hoped no one noticed. “If he keeps this up, I feel like I’ll start slowly approaching ‘I can function like a real human’ territory. Almost. I mean, I’m still not gonna put on real clothes or anything,” she added, completely serious.

“That’s awesome, Kira,” Selena said. “Likewise, I’m happy to report that Miles has joined the ranks of his friend Phoebe over there and has decided to sleep through the night—twelve hours, for the past three nights, in fact. I don’t want to jinx it—and I know, with the four-month mark coming up, we’re soon headed into sleep-regression territory—plus now we’re rolling, who knows what will happen, but man, I hope this lasts. I could really get used to this.”

There it was: the explanation for Selena’s glow. She’d been sleeping. Lucky bitch.

“That’s amazing!” Vanessa said. “Ha, now I know why you asked the question: just to brag. Jenn, how are Clara’s nights going?”

I couldn’t help it: I winced. I knew Vanessa genuinely cared, but I hated the inevitable comparing game that we played at least a few times during each meeting. I was embarrassed to tell them that Clara was still only sleeping two to three hours—and doing that almost only while being held. I knew they’d have helpful suggestions about schedules and timing the feeds differently, giving her more bottles, or whatever, but I also knew that behind the upbeat, supportive advice, there would be judgment, condescending sympathy, and relief that it wasn’t them, that their babies were easier, more impressive, more content—and perhaps, that they weren’t as inept at caring for them as I was.

I took a deep breath, as if preparing to down a foul-tasting shot. Here we go.

“Um, not great. Could be worse, I guess. About the same as Kira,” I lied. “I’m still pretty tired but I know it’ll get better soon. She’s still so little.” I wasn’t sure why I felt so defensive, not just of myself, but of Clara, too.

“It definitely will,” Vanessa assured me. “Totally normal for babies not to be sleeping through the night when they’re this young.” Thanks, woman whose baby is sleeping through the night.

After thirty more minutes of commiserating mixed in with a bit of poorly disguised boasting (enough about the rolling, already, Selena), I was ready for wine and hoped I wasn’t the only one.

As though I’d said this aloud, Selena piped up with, “Where are we taking these children for happy hour today? Who’s in? Also,” she added as she wrestled Miles into her stroller and covered him with a fleece elephant blanket against the October chill, “I hope Isabel is okay—really strange she never showed. Text the group if anyone hears from her, okay?”

We all murmured our assent and concern. It was odd that we hadn’t at least heard from Isabel.

Vanessa couldn’t make happy hour because she had some errands to do on her day off, so it was just me, Kira, and Selena: the athleisure crew (though there was no doubt that Selena could have definitely rocked jeans if she’d wanted to).

Our meetings had two phases: phase one, at the WSWC, where we talked about the babies, and phase two, at the bar, where our conversation tended to shift more toward the husbands.