Before I Let You Go(105)

“Lexie,” Sam says, and I look at him only momentarily before I lose my courage and I look away.

“Please,” I say weakly. “Please let’s not do this now. I’ve had almost no sleep. Please can we talk about it later?”

“Lexie, I just want to help. You’re obviously struggling.” I close my eyes to hold the tears in. Sam rests his hand on my wrist, offering a gentle warmth. I can’t do anything more than nod. “Resign,” he whispers.

“I have to work,” I whisper back. “We need the money.”

“We’ll manage, Lexie. It’s just for a while. Take this time. Focus on Daisy . . . focus on our family. I think we all need you to be here with her for now.”

I open my eyes and stare at him. He’s gazing at me patiently, and there’s nothing but concern and love in his expression.

“I couldn’t have done this without you, Sam,” I whisper. “And there will be plenty of times in our future that I’ll need you to get through. That’s what sharing a life is about, honey.”

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I really am. It’s very hard for me to accept help.”

“That’s become pretty obvious,” Sam says wryly.

“And I’m used to dealing with things on my own.”

“I know.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Good. Daisy is a beautiful, precious little girl but . . . she represents a huge responsibility that we need to share. I’m her father now. You have to let me fulfill that role—for her sake and for yours—but also, because I want to. Okay?”

“Okay,” I nod, and I exhale.

“So will you take some time out from working?”

Leaving my job feels like a failure—an admission of defeat.

It also feels like a decision that Sam and I are making together, a decision that’s right for all of us. Maybe that makes it okay.

“Okay, Sam,” I murmur. “Just for a while.”

I call Oliver and I resign over the phone. He doesn’t sound surprised. I expect that now I can focus all of my energies on Daisy that things will get easier, so I’m confused as days begin to pass and everything still feels so difficult.

I’m at home alone with Daisy all day and there’s so much to do. I get frustrated by my bewildering inability to keep on top of things—the laundry piles up and I don’t get any cleaning done and we’re constantly ordering in because there never seems to be time for groceries. Nights of disjointed sleep leave me feeling permanently exhausted, so it takes little for me to feel frazzled. Sam helps a lot when he’s at home, but his work schedule resumes a more regular rhythm and that means he’s on call sometimes and there are plenty of days when he’s at the hospital from early morning until late at night.

Its late on one of those days when Daisy becomes unusually unsettled. She cries for hours, and at first I tell myself that Sam will be home soon and he’ll be able to help, but then he has a ward clerk call to let me know that he’s had to go back into surgery and it’ll be a few hours.

I try all of the things I know usually calm her—singing, rocking, a bottle . . . but nothing works. This sudden change in her demeanor frightens me. I check her temperature—definitely no fever this time—and then I run through a mental checklist of all the other things that could be upsetting her.

She’s fed, she’s having normal bowel movements, she’s not vomiting—but soon she is red-faced from crying. I have been calm up until this point, but now I’m getting frustrated. I’m exhausted and I’m frazzled and Daisy is still crying, and without even deciding to do it, I call my mom. Robert answers the phone and his voice is curt.

“Hello?”

“Robert, it’s Alexis. Can I please speak with my mother?”

“It’s after midnight, Alexis.”

“I’m sorry. I just need to speak to her.” It is all I can do to keep my voice level enough that the words are coherent. Everything feels topsy-turvy, even this moment—since when do I run to Mom for help?

There is a muffled sound at the end of the phone, footsteps and whispers and more footsteps and a door closes. Then I hear Mom’s voice, gently asking, “Lexie? What is it? Is it the baby?”

The sound of her voice undoes me. Suddenly, it’s not just Daisy I’m scared about—it’s everything.

“Mom, Daisy won’t stop crying. And I had to quit my job and I thought I’d feel better once I did but I just don’t and I can’t even settle her down—”

“Hush, Lexie,” Mom says gently. “Everything is going to be okay. First things first, love. Tell me about Daisy.”

“She’s miserable, and I don’t know what it could be. I’ve given her a bottle—I don’t think she’s constipated—no fever—”

“Love, she’s young—sometimes babies are just unhappy. Try cuddling her—holding her close. Lie down with her.”

“But—Mom—I can’t hold her all night.”

Mom laughs softly.

“Of course you can. I used to do it all the time with you girls when you were unsettled. Sometimes Dad and I took turns, but you can bet your life that if you needed to be cuddled all night, we found a way to do it. I’d even sleep in the rocking chair with you in my arms. You do whatever you have to with a newborn to get enough sleep to get by.”