Page 78 of Christmas at the Movies
Nick had been breech and they couldn’t get him to flip. After several hours of painful labour, Sarah had been rushed to the operating theatre for an emergency C-section. Six weeks later, the incision on her abdomen was still sore.
And she was so, so tired.
Nick didn’t distinguish between night and day. He’d be wide awake at three in the morning, when Sarah could barely keep her eyes open. James had tried to help with the night feeds, but Nick refused to take a bottle. In any case, James was working extra long hours at the cinema while Sarah was on maternity leave. They’d decided not to take on extra staff, to save money.
When Nick finally fell asleep, Sarah lay awake, unable to sleep because of the worries swirling through her head. She was gripped by the fear that something bad was goingto happen to her baby. That she would accidentally hurt him somehow. She knew it was irrational. She knew she needed to sleep. But she just couldn’t seem to turn her brain off.
Her mum friends, like Nora, had assured her that this stage would pass. But Sarah hadn’t told them how bad she was feeling. It was humiliating to admit that after trying for a baby for so long, she was miserable. Having a second baby should have been easy, as she’d done it before. Meg had continued running her dental practice with three kids and had somehow made it look effortless. Sarah could barely find the energy to get dressed in the morning and get Holly to school before the bell. James did the school run whenever he could, but he was usually needed at the cinema.
She thought about calling James now, just to hear his voice, but checking her watch realised he was probably busy selling tickets for the early-afternoon matinee. In desperation, Sarah rang her mother instead. ‘Mum, Nick won’t stop crying. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Is it nappy rash?’ asked Geraldine.
‘No.’
‘Is he teething?’
‘He’s only six weeks old.’
‘Did you try therebozoI sent you?’
Geraldine had given her a shawl from Guatemala that was meant to wrap the baby to its mother’s chest. ‘Yes, but Nick didn’t like it.’
That was an understatement. He’d squirmed and squalled so much it felt like having a writhing octopus pinned to her chest.
Geraldine sighed down the phone. ‘You were a colicky baby, too. Maybe have a drink tonight – that always worked when I wanted to get you and your sister off to sleep.’
Tempting though it was to down a bottle of wine and knock herself out, Sarah was too scared to risk it. What if she dozed off holding Nick and accidentally rolled on top of him and crushed him to death?
‘He still hasn’t smiled,’ said Sarah. ‘Holly smiled when she was six weeks old. I don’t think Nick likes me.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ replied Geraldine. ‘Why wouldn’t he like you – you’re his mum. Anyhow, it’s best not to compare them. Every child does things at their own pace.’
Despite her mother’s reassurance, Sarah suspected that was the problem – there was something wrong with her and the baby knew it. Maybe there wasn’t enough love in her heart for two children. With Holly, she’d felt an instant rush of love as soon as she’d been placed in her arms. This time round, she’d hadn’t felt any joy – only intense worry.
‘Anyway, I’ve got to go, darling – I have a department meeting. I’ll check in with you later.’
As Nick continued to howl, Sarah scrolled through her phone, desperately seeking solutions on all the parenting forums. Was Nick lactose intolerant? Maybe her milk was making him sick. Should she change her diet? She usually only managed to swallow a few bites before Nick started fussing.
Some of the mothers on the forum extolled the virtues of cranial osteopaths, saying they worked miracles. Others recommended baby massage, or taking herbal supplements. There were lengthy debates about dummies, with some people saying they were lifesavers and others warning that it would cause more problems in the long run.
‘Oh, no,’ said Sarah, noticing the time on her phone. She was late to pick up Holly from school. Again. Where had the whole day gone? There was a load of laundry in the machine, still waiting to be hung out to dry. The breakfast dishes were piled in the sink. There was hardly any foodin the fridge, since she hadn’t been to the supermarket. Last time she’d gone, she’d worn Nick in the sling and he’d cried the whole time. It had been so stressful she’d abandoned her trolley in the dairy aisle, in tears herself.
‘Let’s go get your sister,’ she said, bundling Nick into his pram. She checked the straps over and over again, for fear that he’d go flying out. Mercifully, Nick dozed off in the pram, lulled to sleep at last by the motion. The tension between Sarah’s temples eased slightly. She could hear herself think for a change.
Unfortunately, the thoughts whirling through her mind were all worries about the things that could go wrong. That she’d lose her grip on the buggy and it would roll into traffic. That the blanket she’d tucked around Nick might ride up and smother him. She reached down and adjusted the blanket, even though it was nowhere near his face.
At school, Holly was waiting in the empty playground with Miss Varma, her reception teacher.
‘Sorry I’m late, honey,’ Sarah said, crouching to give Holly a hug.
‘Why are you still wearing your pyjamas?’ asked Holly.
Sarah looked down and was mortified to see that she was indeed still wearing her tartan pyjama bottoms. There was a stain of dried egg yolk on the right thigh, where Holly had wiped her fingers on them after breakfast.
‘Silly me,’ said Sarah with forced joviality. ‘Mummy forgot to get dressed today.’
‘Look what I made.’ Holly handed Sarah a painting with three figures – a mum, a dad and a little girl.
