The nursery clock glowed 5:00 a.m. when Onica finally settled against my shoulder. I swayed gently in the same old rocking chair where I’d once fed Bradley three years before. My phone alarm would soon remind me it was time to pump before grabbing a shower.
A small voice drifted in from the hallway.
“Mama? Is it morning-morning or nighttime-morning?”
“It’s shhh-morning, buddy,” I whispered back. “Go crawl in with Daddy. I’ll come get you soon.”
“Daddy’s snoring.”
“I know, sweetheart. He’s very good at it.”
Tiny footsteps padded away, followed by a soft thump and silence. I closed my eyes for all of four seconds before Onica hiccupped herself awake again.
By seven, I stood in the kitchen pumping beneath my blazer while stirring oatmeal one-handed. My laptop sat open on the counter, already loading the marketing presentation for my nine o’clock meeting.
I’d gone back to work only weeks after Onica’s birth because my husband, Carl, had lost his job during the company’s latest round of layoffs.
Carl wandered into the kitchen, hair sticking out in every direction, phone already in his hand.
“Coffee ready?”
“You’ll have to make it,” I said.
“Rough one?”
“She was up at two, four, and five.”
“You’ll have to make it.”
He grunted, kept scrolling, and instinctively angled his screen away when I looked over.
Probably sports highlights.
Or maybe job listings.
