Before I Let You Go(106)
“But—sleeping upright with the baby is a SIDS risk and Sam works such long hours at the hospital and it’s just me most of the time—and I just need some sleep—” I’m starting to cry again, and my mother’s voice is so gentle, and so consoling.
“Lexie . . . I think sometimes even you forget that you’re human. This stage of life is always hard, and you’ve got a lot of extra things on your plate. Let’s think about what else we can do to settle her. Did you swaddle her?”
The swaddle.
“I forgot to do that tonight.” I’m embarrassed it has just slipped my mind—my thoughts have just been racing so fast and hard. Daisy always sleeps swaddled—NAS babies tend to have an increased Moro reflex and so they startle more than newborns usually do, and swaddling helps to manage that. But today, all the swaddles were in the wash and without the pile of them on the table to remind me, it was just one step that I forgot to take. I’m suddenly hopelessly mortified by my own inadequacy.
“Can you get her a swaddle, then? Let’s try that,” Mom asks gently.
My tears had stalled when I realized the problem, but now I start to cry again.
“They’re all in the wash. They’re all wet. She spit up all over them—what else can I do? Does this mean she’s going to be like this all night?”
The problem seems insurmountable, until Mom says gently, “Sweetheart, go and get a cot sheet. It doesn’t matter what she is wrapped in, she just wants to feel secure.”
I keep the phone to my ear as I go. Almost the second the cot sheet is tucked around her, Daisy shuts her eyes, the exhausted crying stops and she goes straight to sleep. I’m sobbing and laughing and I feel like a complete idiot.
“That’s it,” Mom whispers gently. “You know what, Lexie? You’ve got this. You have all that you need to be a brilliant mother to Daisy. But there’s one thing you’ve never been good at, sweetheart. I have never once seen you ask for help—not without a struggle first. You can’t raise a child without a support network. It’s not good for you, and it’s not good for her. Promise me you’ll think about that.”
I rest my forehead against the wall, and I close my eyes and focus on her voice. I don’t want to hang up. I love Mom like this—this is the way she was before Dad died—but I haven’t seen a hint of it in thirty years. She is comforting me—and it feels amazing.
“Are you going to be okay now?”
I hear Robert in the background—urging Mom to come back to bed, telling her that she’s being too noisy, telling her that she needs to leave me to sort this out on my own. I feel a tight, painful contraction in my chest.
“I have to go,” Mom says, without waiting for my response. “Call me tomorrow?”
I hang up the phone, and I look at my niece, who is breathing deeply in her sleep.
Mom is right—I need a support network—but I have no idea what that would even look like.
The next morning, I take Daisy to the mall and finally do the long-overdue grocery run. I just need to see other people—even if I don’t actually speak with them. I feel much calmer by the time we return to the car, and I sing to Daisy while we drive home. As we turn into our street, I see someone on the porch of my house. From a distance, I don’t recognize her, but as I get close I’m shocked to realize it is Mom. How long has she been there? I wonder why she didn’t call when she arrived—and then I realize that she doesn’t own a cell. I park in the garage and get out of the car. As Mom joins me, I blurt, “What are you doing here?”
Mom stares at me. She doesn’t seem upset, but something doesn’t seem right. She opens the back seat door and when she sees Daisy, a broad smile transforms her.
“Mom?” I prompted. Mom glances at me, and she shrugs.
“You have always been there for me, Lexie, and I’ve relied on you far too many times. But you need me now, so I’m here to stay—as long as you need me.”
This makes no sense. I stare at my mother in bewilderment. She leaves the baby and walks toward me, then pulls me into a surprisingly tight hug.
“I wasn’t there for Annie,” she whispers. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to make the same mistake twice.”
I don’t know which of us is more startled when I burst into tears. I feel Mom tense against me.
“Thank you, Mom.” I’m dissolving in her arms, and Mom recovers from her shock and starts to rub gently between my shoulder blades. We stand there for a while, and my tears keep coming and coming, as my mother whispers soothing words into my ear.
“Everything is going to be okay. You’ve been so brave, Lexie. Mom’s here now. You just let it all out, sweetheart.”
And I do. I cry, and I cry, and my mom fusses over me, and it’s funny how it’s been so long since she comforted me that I had forgotten that it feels absolutely amazing. Even when the storm of my emotions has passed, she insists that I go for a nap while she unpacks the car, and when I wake up several hours later, the smell of cookies is in the air, and Daisy is tucked in asleep in the bassinet beside me. Downstairs, I hear Mom moving around, and I lie in bed and I actually let myself rest. I can barely believe the way the tables have turned.
When Daisy wakes up, I take her downstairs to Mom.
“You look better already.” She surveys my face, and then she gives me a very satisfied smile. “Good.”