A Quiet Moment

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked monotonously, rhythmically. Minutes passed, and Sarah remained sitting and staring ahead. At last, a moment just to sit and take a breather. Have a cup of tea. A moment when nothing was expected of her. And then the crying began. Intermittently, at first, and then increasing in speed and volume and octave. She continued to sit there, the incessant crying as far away from her thoughts as the clock ticking on the mantelpiece.

More minutes passed, she assumed, but wasn't sure. Maybe it was only seconds. She was vaguely aware of the distant cries, as far as the next room. And yet she couldn't bring herself to move. Her tea grew cold beside her. She couldn't move. Not that she couldn't, she wouldn't.

Every day started at 5am. Blearily, she would pull herself out from under her warm, soft doona, and pad to the cradle at other end of the room. Michael would stir from the other side of the bed, turn, and begin snoring again. She would pick up the little crying bundle from the cradle, and press the warm body into hers. It was motherly love, but it was still 5am, Michael was still asleep, and all she could hope for was a cup of tea. She would carry the bundle into the living room and place her on the change mat. Change her, then feed her, then leave her lying on a blanket in the living room, so she could turn the kettle on. Then Jessica would cry, and she would never get to have her cup of tea.

Michael was always in a rush to leave for work. He needed to be on site at 7am, so she would have his instant coffee poured, and his toast buttered as he raced into the shower. With a brief peck on the cheek, he was out the door. Her tea from earlier would now be cold, but she took the liberty of chowing down her cold toast, as Jessica lay momentarily at peace, watching the branches moving in the breeze outside.

It was a good day if a shower made the agenda, if Jessica fell asleep after Michael had left for work. After her shower, she would whip around the house, cleaning surfaces, throwing nappies and the rest into the washing machine. She would rinse the dishes, stack the machine, and then Jessica would be awake again.

But today she had done it all, and Jessica had still been sleeping, so she had bravely put the kettle on once more, and with her hot cup of tea, sat down in the living room with nothing to do. That's when the cries had begun, and Sarah could simply not bring herself to get up.

So far, in the two months since Jessica's birth, motherhood had been full of unfulfilled promises. She had felt no bliss, no motherly tenderness, no pride, no elation. Her body still ached, and more so now, with her tired and sleepless muscles.

Everything between her and Michael was so different now. For nine years, they had lived and travelled together, saved money and had bought a house. She would describe their home as enchanting and warm – an old worker's cottage that had been renovated in the last twenty years. When she turned 31, they decided to try and have a baby. They were financially secure, and they were a rock solid couple, who barely ever fought. While friends divorced and disintegrated around them, Sarah and Michael whistled through with barely a scratch.

Michael had wanted kids from the beginning. He was one of four himself, so large families were familiar to him. When Sarah fell pregnant, he cried for the first time in their marriage. He braced her like scaffolding, forever cautious of every movement she made. He watched what she ate, and never let alcohol or any other dangerous substance pass her lips. During the labour, he stood beside her for the entire twenty-six hours, wiping her forehead with cool towels and offering her sips of water. And when Jessica was born, he cried again. Wept – his shoulders heaving, and tears streaming, uninterrupted, down his cheeks.

But after the honeymoon, it had all changed. He'd gone back to work, and his life had resumed as normal. Hers was now completely different. Where she once was able to pop out, see a movie, have a coffee with a girlfriend, she was bound to her house, that now seemed small and empty and cold. Her friends that had promised regular visits were busy with their own lives, and had only been round once, or maybe twice. She couldn't deny that Jessica was precious, with her tiny fingers wrapped around hers, but it wasn't enough to fill the empty house, and the long weary days. When Michael arrived home, all she wanted to do was throw the baby at him, and disappear into the bedroom, close the curtains and the door, block out any noise. But that was when Jessica needed her most, as she cried more in the evening, and refused to be consoled by anyone other than her mother. And Michael was tired from work. All he wanted to do was sit down, eat, and watch television. She'd complain about her tiredness, and the crying, and the dirty laundry. Michael would gently console her, then continue eating, and tell her about his day, or about something on the news. She could see from his face he didn't want to talk about her problems – the same problems every day. Besides, as he always reminded her, she got to stay home all day with their beautiful daughter – if only he should be so lucky. Eventually she gave up, knowing that he'd never understand. By the time she'd bathed, fed and put Jessica to sleep, then cooked dinner, and helped Michael with the washing up, Sarah was too tired to even stand, let alone watch television, or talk with Michael. So she'd go to bed. Jessica would wake throughout the night, and then at 5am, it all began again.

The crying continued. Louder, more aggressive. Screams that sounded like they might rupture the tiny vocal cords. Sarah got up, hesitated, then walked out the front door. The screams withered behind her as she closed the door. She walked up the path, through the trellis, covered by wisteria in full bloom. The daylight was bright and harsh against the pavement. Vacantly, she headed down the street. What was the worst thing that would happen? Jessica might scream until she fell back asleep. She couldn't damage herself, could she? She wouldn't remember this episode, the day she had to cry and cry while her mother walked away. Sarah shuddered to think what Michael would say if she told him. He would be horrified. Perhaps he would never forgive her. He might never trust her again.

She stopped at the intersection. The screams were now inaudible. All she could hear was traffic, and a tram approaching. He would never trust her again. Jessica might never trust her again. Maybe she would never go to sleep again, for fear of waking alone and abandoned.

Even without the screams, and in a whole other planet outside her little house, Jessica wouldn't go away. She was in every moment, and every thought. And yet Sarah felt hollow, standing there at the intersection. She touched her chest, and realised that she had left her top buttons undone.

A tram clunked past as she turned around, and headed back towards home. She looked down at the pavement as she passed a young couple pushing a stroller. Who was she – this monster, with her hair in disarray and her shirt undone, walking the streets while her baby cried herself to shreds? She began to run, her heart pounding as she entered the house. The screaming continued, and she threw herself into the bedroom. She picked up Jessica, who was limp, red and drenched in sweat from all the crying, and pressed her to her breast, tears running down her face.

This story was written a year or so ago, when creative writing consumed my life, temporarily. I read a post by The Little Mumma today that inspired me to share this story on my blog. Thank you Angie, as always, for the inspiration....