interrupting him, and for only the second time I could remember, my mother started to cry.
“Everything is gonna be fine,” my father said, trying to soothe her. “We’ve got to think positive thoughts.”
“It’s all because of me,” my mother said softly.
I perked up and listened harder.
“What do you mean?” Dad asked.
“It’s my fault that Melody is like she is.” Mom was crying really hard then. I could hardly make out her words.
“Diane, that’s crazy! You can’t hold on to that kind of guilt. These things just happen.” I could tell Dad was trying to be reasonable.
“No! I’m the mother !” she wailed. “It was my job to bring a child into the world safely, and I screwed it up! Every other woman on the planet is able to give birth to a normal baby. There must be something wrong with me !”
“Sweetheart, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault,” and I could hear him pull my mom to him.
“But, Chuck, I’m so scared this baby is going to be messed up too!” she said in a shuddering breath.
“Please don’t go there—don’t even think like that,” Dad murmured. “Statistically, what are the chances? Two children who . . .”
And I suddenly couldn’t hear him anymore because my head was pulsing with the things I wanted to say but couldn’t.
I wanted to tell Mom that I was sorry she was so sad and so scared.
That it wasn’t her fault.
That I was just the way I was and she had nothing to do with it.
The part that hurt the most is I couldn’t tell her any of it.
During Mom’s entire pregnancy, however, my parents’ attention to me never wavered, even though, yeah, I worried that it would. Dad did lots more as Mom got closer to her due date. He did some of the laundry, most of the cooking, and all the lifting and carrying. I got to school on time every day, got my stories read to me every night, and the three of us waited and hoped and prayed.
But Penny was born perfect and copper-bright, just like her name. From the minute she came home from the hospital, she was a really happy baby. Mom truly did carry a little bundle of joy into the house.
But I guess a new baby is rough on any parents,especially if they already have a kid like me at home. Sometimes there would be arguments. I could hear them through the bedroom wall.
“I need more help around here, Chuck,” Mom would say, trying to keep her voice low.
“Well, you pay more attention to the baby than you do to me!”
“If you’d help more, I’d have more time for you! With two kids, and one of them Melody, it’s not easy!”
“I have to go to work, you know!”
“I have a job too! Don’t throw that in my face. Plus, I’m up twice a night to nurse the baby!”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry, Diane.” Dad always softened and let Mom win.
“It’s just I’m so tired all the time,” Mom would say, her voice muffled.
“I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I promise. I’ll take off work tomorrow and take care of both girls. Why don’t you go catch a movie or take Mrs. Valencia out to lunch?”
It would get quiet once more, but even so, somehow I always ended up feeling a teeny bit guilty. Life sure would be easier if they had only one child—one with working parts.
I once got one of those electronic dolls for Christmas. It was supposed to talk and cry and move its arms and legs if you pushed the right buttons. But when weopened the box, one of the arms had come off, and all the doll did, no matter which button you pushed, was squeak. Mom took it back to the store and got her money back.
I wonder if she ever wished she could get a refund for me.
But Penny! Penny really was a perfect baby. After just a few months she was sleeping through the night and smiling through each day. She sat up exactly when infants are supposed to, rolled over right on schedule, and crawled on cue. Amazing. And it seemed so easy! Sure, she fell on her face a few times, but once she got it, she was off.
Penny zoomed
“Everything is gonna be fine,” my father said, trying to soothe her. “We’ve got to think positive thoughts.”
“It’s all because of me,” my mother said softly.
I perked up and listened harder.
“What do you mean?” Dad asked.
“It’s my fault that Melody is like she is.” Mom was crying really hard then. I could hardly make out her words.
“Diane, that’s crazy! You can’t hold on to that kind of guilt. These things just happen.” I could tell Dad was trying to be reasonable.
“No! I’m the mother !” she wailed. “It was my job to bring a child into the world safely, and I screwed it up! Every other woman on the planet is able to give birth to a normal baby. There must be something wrong with me !”
“Sweetheart, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault,” and I could hear him pull my mom to him.
“But, Chuck, I’m so scared this baby is going to be messed up too!” she said in a shuddering breath.
“Please don’t go there—don’t even think like that,” Dad murmured. “Statistically, what are the chances? Two children who . . .”
And I suddenly couldn’t hear him anymore because my head was pulsing with the things I wanted to say but couldn’t.
I wanted to tell Mom that I was sorry she was so sad and so scared.
That it wasn’t her fault.
That I was just the way I was and she had nothing to do with it.
The part that hurt the most is I couldn’t tell her any of it.
During Mom’s entire pregnancy, however, my parents’ attention to me never wavered, even though, yeah, I worried that it would. Dad did lots more as Mom got closer to her due date. He did some of the laundry, most of the cooking, and all the lifting and carrying. I got to school on time every day, got my stories read to me every night, and the three of us waited and hoped and prayed.
But Penny was born perfect and copper-bright, just like her name. From the minute she came home from the hospital, she was a really happy baby. Mom truly did carry a little bundle of joy into the house.
But I guess a new baby is rough on any parents,especially if they already have a kid like me at home. Sometimes there would be arguments. I could hear them through the bedroom wall.
“I need more help around here, Chuck,” Mom would say, trying to keep her voice low.
“Well, you pay more attention to the baby than you do to me!”
“If you’d help more, I’d have more time for you! With two kids, and one of them Melody, it’s not easy!”
“I have to go to work, you know!”
“I have a job too! Don’t throw that in my face. Plus, I’m up twice a night to nurse the baby!”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry, Diane.” Dad always softened and let Mom win.
“It’s just I’m so tired all the time,” Mom would say, her voice muffled.
“I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I promise. I’ll take off work tomorrow and take care of both girls. Why don’t you go catch a movie or take Mrs. Valencia out to lunch?”
It would get quiet once more, but even so, somehow I always ended up feeling a teeny bit guilty. Life sure would be easier if they had only one child—one with working parts.
I once got one of those electronic dolls for Christmas. It was supposed to talk and cry and move its arms and legs if you pushed the right buttons. But when weopened the box, one of the arms had come off, and all the doll did, no matter which button you pushed, was squeak. Mom took it back to the store and got her money back.
I wonder if she ever wished she could get a refund for me.
But Penny! Penny really was a perfect baby. After just a few months she was sleeping through the night and smiling through each day. She sat up exactly when infants are supposed to, rolled over right on schedule, and crawled on cue. Amazing. And it seemed so easy! Sure, she fell on her face a few times, but once she got it, she was off.
Penny zoomed
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