The Perfect Child(61)

His words were positive, but they were forced, and he still hadn’t looked at me. Why wouldn’t he look at me? It made the situation more uncomfortable, and things were already weird enough.

“I really wish you’d let me stay home today.”

I shook my head. “They’re going to give your job away if you’re never there.” The last thing we needed was for Christopher to lose his job. I couldn’t handle one more stressful event on our plate.



The following days didn’t get any easier. Janie was determined to make things hard. She started having accidents all the time. She wasn’t bothered by the mess or the smell.

“I pooped, Mommy,” she’d say in a singsong voice. “Change me.”

Sometimes she’d stand in the living room looking right at me and start peeing. I’d yell at her to get into the bathroom, and she’d just stand there, shrugging her shoulders.

I wanted to rest, but as soon as I’d sit on the couch, Janie would call out and ask for help with something. She’d always thrived on being independent and doing things by herself if she could, but suddenly she couldn’t do anything without help, and it never failed that she needed something whenever I was nursing. I wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for days. There were moments when I almost gave in and hired a nanny like Christopher wanted, but no matter how tired I was, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. If Allison could find a way to manage with the twins all by herself, then I could find a way to manage my family situation too.

I always asked Janie if she needed anything prior to breastfeeding or any other task with Cole that would take longer than a few minutes, but she always said no and then waited until I was in the middle of caring for him to bombard me with requests. So it was no surprise when she slid up to me later that afternoon while I nursed Cole and announced, “I’m thirsty.”

I held back the urge to roll my eyes. “Okay, can you grab your cup on the coffee table? I think it still has your milk in it.” I’d quickly learned to have snacks and drinks accessible to her at all times. It was one less thing for her to ask me for. The trick was to stay one step ahead of her.

She frowned. “I don’t want that milk.”

“It’s still cold. It hasn’t been sitting there that long.” She hated drinking milk after it got warm. I hated warm milk too. My mom used to try and get me to drink warm milk when I couldn’t sleep as a kid, and I didn’t like it then either.

“No. I want that milk.”

I looked around. “What are you talking about?”

She pointed to my breast. “That. I want that.”

I looked down at Cole suckling my right breast. I tried to pull my shirt over my other breast, suddenly feeling exposed. “Um . . . you can’t have that.”

“Why?”

I swallowed. “Because . . . well, Cole is a baby, and the milk that comes from my breast is for babies. When he gets older, he won’t drink it either. He’ll drink milk just like you do.”

Her eyes filled with challenge. “It’s not fair. I want that milk. It’s better.”

“It’s not better. It’s, uh . . . different. It has special things that babies need to keep them healthy. Why don’t you give me a minute, and I’ll get you fresh milk from the refrigerator?”

“No. I want that.” Her voice rose with each word.

I pulled Cole off my nipple. Thankfully, he’d had enough, so he didn’t cry. He settled into a milk coma, and I placed him in his infant carrier. I yanked my shirt down, smoothing it in front of me.

“Give me your milk!” She grabbed at my chest.

I pulled away. “Janie, no, stop that.”

She grabbed my breast and pinched hard.

I slapped her hand away instinctively. “Ouch. That hurt.”

She jumped up and kicked Cole’s carrier. “He’s stupid. And ugly. Ugly, stupid baby!” She kicked the carrier again, and it fell on its side. Cole rolled onto the floor.

“Janie!” I screamed as Cole started wailing. I scooped him up from the floor. “Shhh . . . shhh . . . it’s okay. You’re okay.” I bounced as I walked. I pointed to her room. “Go to your room now.”

She glared at me. “I hate you.”

I pointed again. “Go!”

“Take him back!” she screamed before stomping to her room and slamming the door behind her like an angry teenager.

I checked Cole over. Thankfully, he hadn’t hit hard, and his blanket had landed first, so he’d fallen on that instead of the wooden floor. He seemed fine.

I texted Christopher at work:

Janie just flipped out and knocked Cole out of his carrier.

It took a couple hours before he texted back:

Just got out of surgery. Why?

She got pissed because I wouldn’t let her drink my breast milk.

WHAT????

Yep. She wanted to drink it. Totally freaked out when I said no.

What’s she doing now?

She’s been in her room screaming and crying for the last two hours.

Ok. Got surgery. Text me later.

Will do.

I carried Cole into the kitchen to get away from Janie’s sounds, but no matter where I went in the house, I could still hear her throwing a fit. Cole started fussing, and before long he worked himself up into one of his frenzies. I tried to nurse him, but he twisted away from me. The cries from both of them reverberated off the walls. I paced the house. Neither of them stopped. My anxiety built the longer they cried. I walked through the hallway, pausing at Janie’s door. Her screams cut through my brain. Before I knew what I was doing, I pounded on her door and screamed, “Shut up! Just shut up!”