Page 3 of Woman on the Verge

When Grace was an infant, Kyle looked at me breastfeeding her and said, “Look at you—you’re made for this.” He was clearly oblivious to the fact that she had nearly torn off my nipple the first time she latched, which then led me to hire a lactation consultant to coach me through breastfeeding with “the wound” (her words). I appreciated his obliviousness because I wanted him—and everyone—to think I was blissfully bonding with my baby without complication (and certainly without “wounds”). I made the mistake of taking his comment—“You’re made for this”—as a compliment. I made the mistake of feeling a surge of smug pride. It’s only now that I wonder if the remark was an assignment for me, an unconscious way of letting himself off the hook.

“You girls getting ready for a nap?” Kyle asked them.

It was nowhere near nap time.

I’m never sure how ignorant Kyle actually is. Sometimes, I think he says and does things purposefully to remind me of his incompetence, to reconfirm my assignment. The other day, Grace asked him to move her new dollhouse from the living room to the kitchen, and he picked it up by its roof, which led to the whole thing dismantling, hours of my engineering work undone. He looked at me likeOh shucksand said he would rebuild it. And I believe he would have. In his own time. But I knew the girls would whine until it was fixed, and I’d nag Kyle, and Kyle would be annoyed with me for nagging him, and I’d be annoyed with myself for being the Nag. So I just did it myself that night after putting the girls to sleep. When Kyle saw it reassembled the next morning, he kissed me on the cheek and said, “Supermom to the rescue!”

“We’re going to the park!” Grace told him.

“That sounds fun,” he said.

Does he really think it sounds fun? Maybe he does. Maybe I’m the weird one for failing to find the joy. Whenever I talk to him about my fatigue, my boredom, my discontent, he says things like “It’s not as bad as all that, is it?” or “Babe, come on—you got this.” But I don’tgot this. Resentments are bubbling up like hot lava through cracks of black earth.

“Daddy has to make a call,” he told the girls, looking back at his computer, clicking through his email with one hand.

I ushered them out of the room and closed the door behind us. Then we went to the garage, and I spent five minutes trying to convince Grace to sit in the double stroller with her sister instead of pushing her babies in the toy stroller.

“I can attach the toy stroller to the back of the big stroller, okay?”

Tears sprang from her eyes with alarming force, which then made tears spring from Liv’s eyes with alarming force.

“But I want to push my babies,” Grace cried, collapsing onto her knees like an actor in a Shakespearean tragedy.

“It will take us forever to get to the park that way,” I told her. This was the truth. Toddlers do not walk anywhere with purpose. They are like village drunks, wandering haphazardly.

“But I want to!”

My skin began to prickle with an oncoming flash of heat.

“Okay, then no park,” I said, my voice sterner, bordering on shouting.

This caused more tears from both of them.

“Girls, let’s take a deep breath, okay?”

They did not listen. They continued to fuss and whine. I fanned myself with my hands, overheated by rage or hormonal mayhem.

“If you want to go to the park, both of you need to sit in the stroller, okay? We can play with the baby dolls when we get to the park.”

Their crying slowly began to subside. My body cooled. I began to feel victorious.

“Fine,” Grace said, arms crossed over her chest.

I lifted each of them into the stroller, the muscles in my back angry.I’m sorry,I often tell my body, this body I don’t recognize as my own some days.I am a mother now. I must sacrifice you for them.I imagine my back is not happy about this, so it continues to bring me pain.

“Here we go,” I told the girls.

And off we went.

When the girls were babies, I surprised myself by relishing the all-consuming love for them. They were so helpless and fragile. Their neediness infused me with purpose and pride. As they’ve grown, the all-consuming love has felt parasitic, as if they are sucking me dry of all life-giving force. Now their neediness infuses me with panic.

“Mommy, did you bring snacks?” Grace asked.

We had made it just twenty feet past our driveway.

“Of course,” I said.

“Snacks!” Liv yelled.

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