Read Momfriends for Free Online Page A

that. I’ve gotten the article The Times did about colic forwarded to me six times. At the park, the one day it seemed Abe might be asleep for awhile only to wake up and wail, a Caribbean nanny told me I needed to make the baby some sort of tea that I couldn’t understand so I nodded and then fled. I’ve tried the vacuum cleaner. I’ve tried running water. I’ve heard about the clothes dryer, but I live in an apartment, so I subjected the patrons of a wash and fold to Abe’s cries for a half an hour. Then a crazy homeless guy offered to rock him, and I fled again.
    Fleeing and crying-that’s what I’ve been doing. And nursing. Always nursing. And rocking. Constant rocking.
    It’s easier to stay home now, to put the TV on mute and watch Law & Order close captioned as I rock and nurse and weep and rock.
    So it is a pretty amazing feeling to be here at the doctor’s office lying back not having him with me. Even though my legs are up in the position, I am actually more relaxed then I have been in weeks.
    Time has been doing crazy things. Sometimes, I don’t understand how a day can move so slowly. The minute hand creeps. I try to keep it together when Steve calls; I know he is worried about me. I try not to cry on the phone with him, even when I really, really want to. I only will cry on the phone with my mother, because she will say, “Oh, honey” and that will make me cry harder, but it feels okay to cry with her. I wish she didn’t live in Massachusetts. I wish she was the one who was closer instead of my mother-in-law. When Steve’s mother came to watch Abe this morning, I rushed out of the house before I broke down in front of her because she wasn’t my mother.
    I just feel so tired. It’s not that I do anything that challenging all day. In fact, at the end of the day, I can’t remember what I’ve done. My day goes by in three-hour intervals that seem to be days in themselves. By the time Steve gets home, I feel as though I’ve lived ten days.
    I thought I would read a lot. I subscribed to two magazines that I haven’t read. I thought I would catch up on the classics, but I can’t read, even on the rare times when the house is quiet. I watch TV. I switch the baby into different positions. And of course, I cry. Sometimes, I cry right along with Abe. He is oblivious to my tears, while all I want to do is make his stop. He seems so unhappy. I have bred an unhappy baby. The unhappiest baby on the block. The unhappiest baby ever.
    And sometimes, he falls asleep right on me. He sighs in his sleep. And then, only then, he seems peaceful and happy. And I cry then too, because, my God, he really is the most beautiful baby ever. It isn’t hit fault that he drew the short straw and got me for a mama.
    Dr. Kim pushes her stool away from me and stands up. I take this as the sign to get my feet out of the stirrups. Dr. Kim offers me her hand and pulls me up into the sitting position. I close my legs and try to be as casual as one can be when they aren’t wearing any panties.
    “Well, everything is healing perfectly. You can go back to doing everything you were before.” Everything? “Exercise, tampons, sex.”
    “Everything?”
    “Yep, you can do anything,” Dr. Kim said. “It all looks beautiful.”
    “Great, maybe we’ll try some things we never thought of before,” I joke. The very idea of it makes me ache a little in my nether regions.
    Steve deserves sex. He needs something to make our life seem normal again. I owe him that much.
    He is doing his best. I know he is mystified. Before this he had never seen me cry, not at our wedding, not even during labor. Not until the moment Abe got here. He keeps telling me that he is in awe of me for the labor and everything. Steve says he knows that he is lucky he gets to go to work. And I think he is, too. Sometimes I cry that he gets to leave and sometimes I cry because I am mad at him.
    We don’t even really get to talk; we stare at each other over the crying