Chapter 7: Oh No She Didn't

Shea and Jasmine get some unsolicited advice that goes against their mothering intuition.

Every mom has to parent in her own way.

Riley

4 Months Old…

We were all invited--Everett, Zoe and me. It was Jasmine’s birthday. Hector set the whole thing up, which gave him a certain amount of redemption for his surly mood and lack of involvement, but I was still skeptical. I’m Jasmine’s friend. It’s my job.

It was initially supposed to be a surprise party--Jasmine, her mom and her sister all went dress shopping for her sister’s upcoming Quincenera as the ruse--but I don’t think Hector fully thought that one through. You try hiding three 4-month-old babies silently behind the couch. Jasmine sure was surprised when she walked in and heard a chorus of wails coming from the corner without a baby in sight. After that we all sort of meandered out of our hiding spots and waved.

Half an hour later, I knew what my next pregnancy food would be. Not that I was thinking about my next pregnancy--God, no--but with each bite of authentic Mexican food all I could think about was how badly I wanted an excuse to eat as much of it as possible.

“Seriously, I forgot how hot your husband is,” Jasmine said behind her hand as we stood in the corner, eating off of paper plates and looking at out the party--in particular, Everett narrating his dinner to Zoe, who sat in his lap.

“Well, when Ashton Kutcher got married, I said, 'what the hell?'”

Jasmine’s family was there--her mom, her three younger sisters and her grandparents--and Hector’s family too--his older brother and parents. Everett and I didn’t exactly fit in, but they all accepted us graciously. In fact, Jasmine’s mom, Claudia, insisted I sit next to her and tell her all about life as a mom.

“Are you still nursing?” she asked me, which I thought was a little forward for someone I’d met forty-five minutes earlier but hell, I’d been through it all. What was a little over-sharing?

I nodded.

“Good. If I had any say, I’d have Jasmine nurse for a year. Even up to two years. That milk...it’s so nutritious.”

I smiled, hoping my politeness overshadowed my disbelief. “Nursing can be a lot of work. And Jasmine has twice as many mouths to feed.”

She waved my comment away. “I had three girls, and I nursed every single on of them to two years. Actually, Daniella was a year and a half but only because I got an infection.”

I hadn’t thought about how long I planned to nurse, but two years seemed a bit excessive to me. And the last time I’d broached the subject with Jasmine, I’m pretty sure she said, “As soon as I can pry them off the things.” But I didn’t argue with her mom. It wasn’t my place.

“How does she sleep?” Claudia asked.

“Well,” I said.

“I hope she’s sleeping in her own crib in her nursery by now. The longer you wait, the harder it gets. Escuchame. If you spoil her now, you’ll be fighting her for the rest of your life. Just look at Jasmine.”

I did. She had Andrea in her arms and was rocking her back and forth, nothing but love in her eyes, despite Andrea's screaming. Just then, Everett came over and held Zoe out to me.

“Can you hold her while I go to the bathroom?” he asked. I gave him my best “rescue me” eyes, but when he didn’t get the hint, I agreed.

“So does she?” Claudia prodded. Sleep in her crib, she meant.

“Mostly.” What else could I say?  She was searching for something to pounce on and I wasn't going to give it to her.

Jasmine came over, Andrea still pouting in her arms.

“Hector wants me to set her down for the cake,” she said to her mom. “Can you hold her?”

“Of course,” she sang and took Andrea from her. As Jasmine walked away, Andrea’s cries grew louder and louder. “See,” Claudia said over the noise. “Spoiled already.” She shook her head.

I watched in confusion as Jasmine’s mom sat Andrea on her knees and reprimanded her, saying things like, “Now, that’s not how we get attention, is it?” and “Your mommy needs to teach you better than this.” My confusion turned to horror when she picked her up and placed Andrea in the corner of the couch, turning away from her. Andrea only screeched louder and flapped her arms up and down until she was red in the face.

I looked around the room for Jasmine to put an end to it, but she was nowhere to be seen. I felt sick to my stomach, and beads of sweat formed on my forehead every time Andrea leaned to close to the edge. I opened my mouth to cut in but every time I did, the woman looked back at Andrea and said something like, “Crying won’t get you what you want, my dear.”

Everett took a step into the room, looked at what was happening and then glanced at me. I saw everything I was feeling mirrored on his face. “Find Jasmine,” I mouthed to him and he left the room.

“Don’t you think we should check to see if she needs a diaper change,” I finally built up the courage to say.

“As soon as she stops crying, she can have whatever she wants,” she said with finality.

I felt so relieved when Jasmine came in, I literally sighed. Everett filed in behind her. Jasmine spotted Andrea and stopped in her tracks.

“Mom...” she said tentatively, but she didn’t make a move to pick up her daughter.

“Jasmine, she needs to learn and if you’re not going to teach her--”

“She’s a baby,” Jasmine tried again, but still, all that fire I knew she possessed had been stifled like a lid on a pot. Where was the strong woman I knew?

Then I remembered--none of us were as strong as we’d like when it came to our mothers.

“You know what?” I said and stood up. I handed Zoe to Everett, who, for the first time ever, wasn’t the biggest noisemaker in the room. “I just remembered, Hector asked me to put Andrea in a special outfit before the cake.” Jasmine’s mom flinched when I moved to pick Andrea up but I said, “I promised” and she finally conceded. As soon as Andrea was in my arms, she calmed down. Indeed, she was wet.

Jasmine followed me into the nursery and closed the door behind us, silencing the party.

“Hurry,” I said. “Pick out something special for her to wear.” Jasmine smiled at me in a way that looked more like a frown and turned to the dresser.

“Has your mom always been this...overbearing?” I asked while strapping Andrea down on the changing table.

“When I was pregnant, she kept buying me boy clothes, even though I told her over and over I was sure it was a girl. It’s only gotten worse since she found out she was half right.”

***

“Thank you for doing this,” I told Riley as we stood at the counter in the dentist’s office. Neither of us had been to the dentist since we’d had the girls, so we decided to book them together and play the dual roles of patient and babysitter in a single afternoon. “I don’t know how I could have done it without you.”

“No problem,” she said. “You have a baby and every little appointment is like organizing the Olympics.”

I nodded emphatically and laughed. Zoe was kicking in her car seat, although, finally quiet. No matter how much Riley had rocked her while the dentist cleaned my teeth, she wouldn’t calm down--probably all the macabre-looking machines--so finally the dentist, growing more frustrated and impatient by the minute, had suggested I lay back and she’d get it done as quickly as possible. Now that it was over, I wanted to go home.  I wistfully imagined taking a nap while Zoe cleaned the house and drummed my fingers on the counter.

“Your babies are beautiful,” an older woman said from behind me. The woman’s hair was died so red, it looked almost purple and she had used so much hairspray on her curls they looked like they could hold up through a hurricane. I pulled the over-the-shoulder smile and then looked back to the woman behind the counter, who was meticulously comparing her prices to what my meager insurance covered. As new mothers, Riley and I were used to the ooo-ing and ahh-ing. I had gotten to the point where I just pretended they were talking directly to the baby, a conversation for which my response wasn't necessary.

“I have one of my own,” Purple said. “He’s three.”

This time I nodded, still looking straight ahead. I shot a glance at Riley who wasn’t even attempting to make conversation. She was smirking at my undying need to be polite. I fought back the urge to stick my tongue out at her.

Purple leaned in until I could feel her breath in my hair. Instinctively, I took a step forward.

“He’s a little monster,” she whispered with a laugh.

Have you ever heard that fifty percent of what people say when they’re joking is true?

I smiled curtly again and nodded. This was all the encouragement the woman needed.

“I don’t know what’s with that boy. He doesn’t listen to a word I say. The other day he was about to touch the oven, and no matter how much I yelled, it didn’t make a damn bit of difference. It was like talking to a brick wall.”

“I hope he was okay,” I said quickly, in that way that sounds like you’re asking for more information but you’re really not.

“Oh, he was. But I’m telling ya’,” Purple said, unabashedly, “spank ‘em while they’re young.”

My eyes bulged before I could think to be polite. Riley looked at the woman, mouth agape, out of the corner of her eye. Purple didn't seem to notice and continued to rattle on.

“My mother-in-law won’t let me spank him,” she said.

The administrator behind the desk seemed awfully intent on the form in front of her, though she wasn’t writing a thing. I noticed, then, the framed picture of a little boy on the other side of the desk.

“She used to beat the hell out of her kids but she won’t even let us give him a swat.”

Was she listening to herself? I’d gotten my fair share of unsolicited advice since I’d become a mother, but this was too much.

Riley cleared her throat but nothing could stop the freight train steaming ahead in front of us.

“We’re seeing a family counselor because we just don’t know what to do with him. We have a sixteen-year-old son, and he wasn’t anything like this.”

The woman stopped, waiting for a response.

“Yeah, well, every child is different,” I said quietly. 

“Well, anyway,” the train blared on, “I just can’t understand why my mother-in-law makes such a big deal about it after what she did to her kids.”

Finally, Purple took a breath and looked like she might be finished. I searched for anyone with my bill so I could get out of there before it started up again.

“Did it work?”

I startled when Riley spoke and turned to her, aghast. Purple looked taken aback, as if she’d forgotten she’d been talking to actual people.

“Excuse me?” the purple woman asked.

“The beating. Did it work?” Riley said again.

“I don’t think I know what you mean,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink.

“I mean is your husband a good guy? Or does he have mommy issues?”

The woman stammered and took a step back.

“Does he have an anger problem?” Riley went on. “Has he ever hit you?”

My hand flew to my mouth, and I stared at Riley. Purple’s face almost matched her hair.

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to ask me that,” the woman said breathlessly. She adjusted her glasses, and we all heard her hair crunch.

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to suggest I so much as misplace a hair on my daughter’s head.” Riley lifted her chin, and I imagined her as a third grader in a schoolyard fight. Winning. The woman stared at her for a long moment, her jaw slack, before she turned on her heel and left without another word.

For a moment everything was still while the dust settled. Then Riley smiled and turned to the administrator.

“Do you have that bill yet?” Riley asked. Just then it shot out of the printer across the room.  The administrator pulled it off the machine and handed it to me. As we left, she whispered, “Thank you,” from behind the counter and I was sure it had nothing to do with business.

***

That night I stood helplessly in front of Zoe’s crib in the dark. Zoe had her little hands wrapped around the bars, crying.  All the words of the moms who had come before me--my mom, Claudia, the purple-haired lady--ran through my head.  No matter what I did--pick her up, let her cry, spank her--someone would be convinced I wasn't doing it right.  There were entire forums online dedicated to remind new moms to ignore the advice and go with our instincts.  But it was so hard to trust my gut when every morning felt like starting a new game I didn't know the rules to yet. The door clicked open behind me, and Everett switched on the lamp. He stood next to me silently, watching Zoe, watching me.

“Just pick her up, baby,” he said.

I pushed the voices away, stepped forward and swept Zoe up in my arms.

Author's Note

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