Her shrieks rebounded off the walls, reaching my room at an earsplitting volume. When the nurse spoke to us after the birth, she had said Eliza would be sleeping through the night by nine months. She’s nearly a year now and is still waking up at unpredictable hours. Last Tuesday before the trade-off, it was 12:02. Tonight it’s 3:08.
I walk down the hallway and turn left into her butter-yellow bedroom. Her wails are still unsettling the calm silence of the apartment. I pick her up out of her wooden cradle and sit down in the rocking chair your mother gave me for Eliza’s nursery three weeks before the day you walked out. The calming rocking in the worn, green cushioned chair which had likely lulled of her uncles and aunts as children to sleep countless times finally cast its soothing charm onto Eliza. As her breathing slowed, indicating entry into the softer world gated by closed eyelids, I held her to my chest for a bit longer. Finally, brushing my fingers through her soft mess of ear-length brown curls, I stood and carried her back to her cradle, carefully placing her down and covering her with the nursery quilt Josephine had given me last Saturday. She thought I would appreciate its carefully attended to wedding ring pattern. I was glad to accept the gift as it now meant I would have a blanket heavy enough to keep Eliza from freezing this harsh winter.
I slipped down the stairs to the kitchen at 3:19. I had two hours and eleven minutes to rest before I needed to wake up and deliver Eliza to your mother’s before setting off for the retirement home. I turned on the radio, hoping the quiet mumbling of the poor disc jockey with the night-shift would help me sleep. After a short while, I picked up the landline and dialed 918-337-8024, the number of the radio station and requested Stairway to Heaven. Hopefully the endless song would be repetitive enough to calm the overwhelming worries of the bills and rent and the new need for yet another job to pay the increasing rates of the lawyer arguing on my behalf for my continued custody of Eliza. At 3:30, the song came on and after the eight minute and two second song finally ended, I tiptoed back up the stairs, past Eliza’s door, and opened the door to my room slowly, hoping to minimize the creak of the hinges. In the peace, I laid myself down to sleep, wishing to dwell in the safety I had once found in you.
~
I awoke at 5:28, two minutes before the alarm. I told you I would make progress, that you wouldn’t be able to use this against me. I will say, your more and more frequent abandonment of Eliza in my arms is doing little to help your case, both as it is altering my sleep schedule and demonstrating a lack of accordance with the court-dictated guidelines for distribution of Eliza’s time.
Quickly gathering up Eliza’s change of clothes for the day and Gerber jars into her diaper bag, I woke her at 5:46 as I lifted her out of her cradle. Bouncing her up and down in my arms as I walked out the door of the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind me with the diaper bag tossed over my shoulder, I hoped to lull her to sleep. Bundled up in our coats, made the slow drudge through the snow across town to your mother’s house where her porchlight was turned on, awaiting our arrival. After handling Eliza and her things off with an accompanying endless flood of apologies for the hour and the need to drop her by so early, I began my walk to yet another distant corner of town where the retirement home resided.
With only one block left to go, I was suddenly knocked over by a woman bounding down the street. She stood over me, staring and rambling in apologies until I stood up, brushed the snow off my rather worse for wear coat and explained that I thought nothing of it and that I hoped she had a lovely day but that I was running awfully late considering that it was already 5:58.
It was only once I was on my way that I began to wonder what the woman was doing running with such purpose at such an early hour. I arrived at the retirement home at 6:02, with eight minutes to spare to change into my uniform and head back to the kitchen which consistently reeked of onions and dirty dishwater. Before entering the building, I lifted my eyes to the rolling hills beyond the retirement home and hoped for strength to make it through the day. Then I lowered them, smiling at the silliness of the wish directed to the sun arises from the hills. From where did I expect help to come?
At 6:03 I entered the building. Another day to prove my ability to provide for Eliza was beginning and I couldn’t afford to delay any longer.
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