“Can’t sleep either?” I whispered.
“Not a wink.”
We sat there in the dark for a while. Evelyn made tiny swallowing sounds.
“Mom,” I said. “What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to rest. And heal. And take care of this little girl. And let us take care of you.”
“I mean after that. How am I supposed to do this alone? I don’t even know how to change a diaper without her screaming.”
“Nobody knows how to change a diaper without the baby screaming,” my mom said. “The baby screams no matter what. That’s not you failing. That’s just babies.”
I laughed, a little, wet and broken.
Then I said the thing I’d been thinking all night.
“I won’t beg him.”
My mom was quiet.
“I won’t, Mom. I spent six years feeling like I wasn’t enough. Like my body was broken. Like I was letting him down every single month.” My voice shook. “And then she came. She came, and she’s perfect, and she’s a gift. She’s a gift from God, Mom. If he can’t see that, if he can look at her and say she’s a disappointment, then I don’t want him. I’m not going to beg a man to love his own daughter.”
