Jake the Snake

She looks different now. Her hair seems glossy where it was once brassy. Her face seems clear from the teenage mark. Her body seems fuller. Her gait is slower, her slumped shoulders relaxed. I knew something was up the minute she walked in and breezed by me to the kitchen. I heard the water and wondered why she was doing dishes at 10 PM. It was a fleeting thought.

Theo stirred in his father’s arms and began to whimper. My eyes briefly half closed fluttered wide. We had spent the day visiting Camille at camp and then drove all over Oxford County checking out potential home towns (okay, not all over, just Norway, Paris, South Paris, Minot, Mechanic Falls, and Auburn). Once home, Sam and Deirdre all but collapsed and I thought Theo was out for the count as well. Claudia was nowhere to be seen but a sheet of a paper was left behind with extra bubbly writing explaining that she was going out to dinner with her boyfriend, Jake whom Deirdre had dubbed Jake the Snake. Whenever she would yell his nickname as he approached the apartment, Drew and I would cringe simultaneously, provoking a “jinx” to screech out in my mind to hide the images festering there. Kids say the damndest things.

Drew bathed Sam and I tucked in Deirdre with Theo firmly plastered to my hip. I nursed him for a bit, but he refused to sleep. Drew was having about the same luck with Sam, so we switched. I will never fully comprehend why Theo will fall asleep bouncing safely in the crook of his father’s elbow, but insist on being nursed if anywhere near me. I was tired anyway, so lying down next to Sam and discussing the moon seemed ideal. And I think I fell asleep before him. I woke up gripping his foot mid massage (Sam has weird habits, I know, don’t berate us for them). He was asleep though, so the pressure must have been what he needed.

Extricating myself from Sam’s bed is always precarious. One wrong slip of a limb, touch of fabric, or jaunt of a joint and it’s a no go and I have to lower myself back onto his mattress and allow his slim arm to encircle my head again. Thank the gods he was exhausted because we were a tangle of pajamas and hair.

I rolled over and slipped a hand under his head to disengage my braid from the side of his cheek. He was sweaty and my hair is frizzy so this was not a simple task. He mouthed O’s at me, but did not open his eyes. I pulled my arm out from under him slowly. When I type slowly, my stomach tightens because I am remembering and it is like walking on a bed of nails frozen in the dead of a Maine winter where no one will come near (most of my neighbors these days are from a place we Mainers refer to as “away” which means they arrive for our warm months and breathtaking autumns, then leave. This may seem intelligent; this not living in a state that eats cars, tools, skin, and soul in the winter, but the sad side effect is that Mainers can no longer afford to live in Southern Maine. I often wonder where they go and think that perhaps someday, I will do a photo journey and find them, the fabled tent city perhaps? But, I digress).

Sam sighed and looked at me sternly. I stared back, holding my breath. The air between us impregnated held still. Suddenly, he arched his back and with his arms over his head, pointed his toes and murmured, “Day O”. Rolling over, his back loomed. But, he was still. I stood up. Raising my arms above my head, I reached as far as I could and felt my back pop.

Exhausted, all I wanted to do was sink back down beside Sam and sleep the night away, but I knew Theo needed to nurse, or would soon. It dawned on me that I had spent my entire adult life twitching that I was going to have to feed an infant soon. This thought permeated every aspect of my existence from feeling that I was putting someone out to use the toilet to spending my nights braless for simplified breastfeeding. I am a proponent of baby wearing, co-sleeping, nursing on demand, and attachment parenting. I also have a collection of well adjusted children to back up my stance. But, I have no life. I mean it. I am not certain who I really am underneath this Demeter exterior. It has been bothering me lately; especially now that my first child is the age I was when I met her father. Sometimes, I feel as if that is when I left myself behind. I always thought I’d get back to living once Claudia was older. But then I had Camille. It seemed like I would get back to worrying about whom I was and what I needed once Camille was older. But then I had Deirdre. Okay, I was willing to sacrifice my 20’s to my children, but my 30’s were mine. I would write the Great American Novel, I would sell one million copies, I would figure out who I was through this pen on paper. But then I had Sam. Okay, I could do this. I wanted a son. My mother wanted a grandson. My Bumpa had wanted a great-grand son so much he uttered he would go make one himself. Unfortunately, he missed Sam by a good few years, but Sam has his name, so it was okay. I danced like mad; I wrote like mad, I could do it all whether or not I had a ton of kids. But then I had Theo.

And here I am, just turned 35 wondering who I am like some hippy lost on LSD in 1969. Only, I can’t go find myself. That would be irresponsible. I have to stay here and figure this out surrounded by chaotic bliss. Is there such thing? And now, my oldest daughter is walking around this apartment, her eyes different, her hair different, her body different, sad because Jake the Snake hasn’t called and it has been three days.