Page 10 of Axe Backwards
Like twenty-four hours a day.
And here’s the thing. I indulged her.
After all she’d been through, the thought of putting her down alone in her crib gutted me. I couldn’t ignore her sad little cry when she needed comfort.
I owed her love and safety. So I started babywearing. I picked up a variety of carriers and wraps, and thanks to mom content on YouTube, I got pretty good at tying them up. We had wraps and carriers for every occasion and temperature, and my collection hung neatly on a rack I’d built by the door.
She preferred to nap on me. So I’d wrap her up and let her sleep while I folded laundry or made dinner. I discovered that fresh air soothed her, so we’d go for evening hikes and she’d fall asleep along the way.
When she woke up at night, I’d walk around, rocking and snuggling her, feeding her when she was smaller. She’d nuzzle into my neck and go back to sleep in her crib for a bit.
But the cross-country move had shaken us both up.
The girl had always wanted to be held, but now that desire was constant.
I’d worked hard to make her comfortable and happy in our new apartment. It was technically a two-bedroom, but the second was a glorified closet.
So I took the tiny one for myself, cramming a twin bed I picked up from my mom into it, and gave Tess the big room. I turned it into a nursery, equipped with a glider, humidifier, a sound machine, and the butterfly mobile she loved to stare at as she drifted off—at least while we were in California.
Since the move, it wasn’t enough. The crib she’d slept in for months now repulsed her. The only place she wanted to be was in my arms. At ten months old, she could scream her lungs out when she felt like it. So, in the interest of survival, I’d hold her and walk circles around the apartment.
As long as I kept moving and kept her close, she’d sleep.
It wasn’t sustainable, but I had no idea what else to do.
I’d put on a podcast and roam around, feeling her little heart beat against my chest. When I thought I might pass out from exhaustion, I’d press my lips to her head and inhale her baby smell and keep going.
It was after one when a knock sounded on the door. I was so caught up in the classical music I was listening to, I wasn’t sure I’d actually heard it. But the second time, there was no denying it.
I removed my headphones and unlocked the door. Through a couple of inches I’d pulled it open, I could make out a woman standing in the dark hallway. She was wearing athletic shortsand a thin tank top. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her lip was curled in annoyance.
“Victoria?”
She cocked her head, her eyes narrowing. “Noah? You’re my obnoxiously loud new neighbor?”
I pointed at Tess, who was starting to stir now that I’d stopped walking.
With a shake of her head, Victoria pushed herself into the apartment. “Give me the baby.”
I resumed my pacing, following the path I’d created in my mind. “Nah, we’re good.”
“Bullshit. If that poor kid isn’t wailing, then you’re stomping around like an elephant. What’s going on? Is she sick?”
With a huff, I glared at her. I was hardly an elephant.
“I can hear everything that happens up here. Damn old buildings and shoddy HVAC.” She looked me up and down. “And you’re not a small guy, so you make noise when you pace.” Shrugging, she shut the door behind her.
Okay, then. I guess this was now a social visit.
“You live downstairs,” I murmured, still moving around in the dimly lit living room–slash–dining room. The space was small and open to the kitchen, but the apartment was clean and had a lot of windows.
Maybe it was egocentric of me, but I hadn’t considered the person who may live below me. I was flailing, and though Lovewell was a life raft in a storm, I was still trying to steady myself.
I turned to face her. In the dim light, in the middle of the night, and without makeup, the woman was beautiful. At the coffee shop yesterday morning, she’d looked mature and businesslike. But right now, in my living room, she looked like the girl I remembered. Kind and friendly, with a hint of sass.
“I’m sorry we woke you.” A wave of exhaustion rolled over me. If she could really hear the hours of pacing I’d done, I could only imagine she was as tired as I was. “We’re having some trouble adjusting to our new routine. And I’m so damn tired.”
“Can I help?”
