In the Deep End

The baby monitor sat on the night stand beside the bed. Even turned away from it, you could see the red light reflecting on the wall. It was raining. Not a light enjoyable rain you normally associate with spring. A dismal grey rain. This is how I remeber these days in my mind.

Shelly and I were in our new house. Our parents had gone back to their homes on the other side of the state. For the moment is was quiet. The exhaustion of the last few weeks took over.

I closed my eyes for when seemed no more than a minute and quiet was shattered. The alarm? Radio? No, it was Savannah. Shelly and I took turns getting up, so we could at least sleep through the night every other night. Ok. Who's night was it. Shelly bumped me,melting me now it was mine. Crap. I have to get to her before she wakes her sister.

I roll out of bed and lean on the wall for balance. The dizziness of my head and wobbly legs make the first few steps seem risky. Our bedroom is long. In the dim light I can see the rocker beside the wall. I can make out the shelf with a golden New York and replica of Neuschwanstein. To the left of them, I can see the doorway. Savannah is getting louder.

I'm on the move now, trying to beat the clock before Sierra is up too. I don't look but I know the rooms I pass. Our closet, a strange separate walkin across the hall, a bathroom, another smaller closet and the guest room when family had slept while they were there to help is. They were grey doors, holding grey rooms that I passed on another grey night. This wasn't just night, this was a night that a lack of sleep had drawn the very color off of every surface.

If they had a color, Savannah's cries would be red.

I made it into the bedroom. A hand full of Noah's ark creatures looked at me. We had more, but who had time to put them out. Surrounded by cloth and wood, I could see the angry, yelling mouth of the baby. With a quick move, I lifted her and rushed her out of the room. Only time would tell if I had been successful. I was hoping Sierra wouldn't wake as soon as I was done with Savannah, as had happened two nights ago.

Her whole body clenched as I held her to me while I waited for the water to get warm. She wouldn't quit until she had the bottle. Two ounces to one scoop. The water warmed, but was not hot. Perfect. I held Savannah in my left arm and deftly move the open bottle underneath the stream of water. Four ounces. I opened the can of formula beside the sink. I dug the scoop into the yellow sticky powder and keeled it off using the side of the can. Twice a dumped it's contents into the water. I put the nipple into the ring and the whole assembly onto the bottle. Almost there.

As I walked back to the couch, where the bouncy chair and the changing bag were, I held the nipple and shook the bottle mixing it's contents. At the couch I flopped down. This felt as much like the middle of the night as anything can. I sat the bottle on the coffee table and the baby beside me. I changed her diaper quickly, to even more ear shattering cries. Hungry babies do not care if the have wet pants. I had forgotten this before, so I knew I was saving myself trouble in the morning.

I put Savannah in the crook of my arm, a move that now felt natural, and I pressed the bottle to her lips. Red screams were replaced with the sound of suckling. Quiet. I closed my eyes and listed to the house. Listened for her sister.

I could hear the cars leaving wet tire prints on in front of the house. I imagined them spraying water into the yard. I sunk into the neutral hum. I resisted sleep, but I dreamed.

I love my wife, but I already fantasized about the next night, when it would be her turn to get up. Maybe tomorrow I would stay in the warm embrace of the bed. Maybe tomorrow I wouldn't even wake when the monitor told us it was time. Maybe tomorrow life would get a little of its color back.