Somewhere Out There(107)
Once she’d showered and dressed, Brooke took her prenatal vitamins along with a quick breakfast, then decided to get in her car and head toward Northgate Mall. Her head still felt foggy and her chest ached a bit after the tears she’d cried the night before, but the more she replayed what had happened with Jennifer—the more she thought about her birth mother’s seemingly inherent inability to parent—the more motivated Brooke felt to do everything she could to prepare for the experience herself. The fact that Jennifer didn’t have it in her to be a good mother didn’t mean that Brooke was destined to the same fate. There were books she could read, classes she could take. She had her sister to help her along the way.
But today, the best thing she could think of to do—the quickest route she could take toward increasing her confidence that she could raise a child on her own—was to make a list of everything she would need to buy in order to take good care of a baby. She wanted to be prepared.
After finding a parking spot near Target, Brooke entered the store and grabbed a cart, thinking that even on her limited budget, she’d be able to buy a few things for the baby. She headed toward the baby section, a department she’d never spent time in before, determined, at the very least, to find an outfit for her daughter to wear home from the hospital. She imagined a frilly pink dress with white lace edging, white tights, and tiny black patent shoes. And a matching headband with a bow, she thought. She wondered if her daughter would have any hair when she was born, or if she’d be bald, like other babies she’d seen. She wondered if she’d recognize Ryan in their daughter’s face right away. She thought about the night she’d last seen him, standing next to her car, offering his support, his many texts and voicemails since then, and she suddenly thought how resentful she would have been if her father had wanted to help take care of her and Brooke’s mother refused him. If he had wanted to be a part of her life and was deliberately shut out. She was being unfair, she realized, and decided that she would call Ryan later that night and talk with him about the role he might play in their daughter’s life, not wanting to deny her child what Brooke had been denied herself. She would make it clear that she wasn’t interested in resuming the more intimate side of their relationship. For her own peace of mind, she needed to prove to herself that who she was—the life she built on her own—was enough.
On her way to the infant and toddler clothing department, she passed a wall covered with a variety of cribs, changing tables, and car seats, and decided to take a look. She ran her eyes over the many items from which she had to choose, realizing she should have searched the Internet for some kind of baby-readiness checklist before she decided to shop. She really had no idea where to start. She didn’t know the difference between a crib and a bassinet. And why would Target carry a bedside Co-Sleeper? Hadn’t Brooke read stories about women rolling over and accidentally suffocating their babies in the middle of the night? Maybe that was the reason for a Co-Sleeper, so the baby would be within easy reach but not on the bed with her. Did she need them all? She couldn’t believe how expensive some of the cribs were; she’d paid less for her junky, high-mileage first car. Her pulse began to race, and she worried she’d made a massive error in judgment thinking that she could do this on her own. If she couldn’t even pick out a crib, how was she going to do everything else? How was she going to change diapers, breast-feed, or figure out how to get her baby to stop crying? How would she choose a daycare or know when her daughter should start eating solid foods?
“When are you due?” a woman’s voice asked, jerking Brooke out of her thoughts. She turned to see a tall, elegant-looking black woman standing next to her. She was pregnant, too, likely further along than Brooke, since her stomach looked as though she’d swallowed a basketball. Her stance was wide, and her right arm was angled so her hand was pressed against her lower back.
“April,” Brooke said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “Toward the end of the month.” She glanced down the aisle behind her, shocked by the multitude of products sitting on the shelves. There were bottles and bibs, pacifiers and what appeared to be fifty different kinds of infant socks. How would she ever choose the right ones? She looked back at the woman. “How about you?”
“February sixth,” the woman said. “I’m not sure I can hold out until then.”
Brooke smiled, uncertain how to respond. Did all pregnant women just strike up conversations with each other? Was this something she’d need to learn to do, too? She was good at chatting with customers for her job, knowing how to charm them to work toward a better tip, but in most situations, Brooke was the one to stand back and wait for others to talk with her.
“Is this your first?” the woman asked, and Brooke nodded. “I thought so,” the woman said. “You have a bit of the wide-eyed, what-the-hell-did-I-get-myself-into look.” She grinned, and Brooke felt her cheeks flame red, wondering if her ineptitude was really that obvious.
“Excuse me,” she said, and she hurried away from the woman, heading into the baby clothing department, where she was confronted with even more choices than what she’d just seen in terms of car seats and cribs. There were overalls and shirts and pairs of tiny jeans. There were things called “onesies” and sleeping sacks and bodysuits. Dresses. She wanted to find her baby a dress. That’s all she needed to get today. Everything else, she would figure out later.