This story is by Geraldine O’Sullivan and was part of our 2018 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
Baby Monster
The text message read “I’m glad she’s not being a monster!”
Quinn was born on May 1st around 4:00am weighing about 6lbs. We were all surprised, expecting a much larger baby since Matt and Jacquelyn (the parents) are 6′ and taller.
Pacing the kitchen floor watching the hands of the clock that never seemed to move, I set out as daylight was just breaking to visit my first grandchild. My daughter’s red lips were more pronounced on her ashen face as she exclaimed, “what are you doing here?” I guess I didn’t get the memo, not to visit until beckoned. The awkwardness was momentary as I gave my daughter her first hug as a mother. She didn’t know it, I was weeping inside as I felt her frail body tremble, wishing I could of relieved her of the pain she had just experienced.
All the chatter about centimeters, labor pains etc. changed to exhilaration when the “little nugget” (as my daughter called her), arrived home, looking small among the usual baby shower paraphernalia.
It was agreed by the elders and Quinn’s parents that she would not go to daycare until she reached 6 months, leaving the grandparents 3 months of babysitting.
I had the summer to get acquainted with the little one and loved the times I visited particularly getting reacquainted with my daughter. We always had a good relationship, both managing to survive the teenage years. Now she was a mother, arriving downstairs hair disheveled, eyes red from lack of sleep trying to make a connection with this little being that did little more than sleep, eat, poop and cry. Boy, did she cry. She was colic.
Something else was happening as I saw my daughter juggle caring for a baby, keeping house and struggle with the day to day isolation of being home alone. She had a job waiting for her, finding herself confronted with the notion of being wonder woman, doing all or finding some way to make adjustments to meet her needs. It all came to a head when she broke down after receiving a nonchalant reply to her calling “their bluff” on a job prospect, simultaneously receiving a job offer from another company. As she blurted out “I guess I needed this, I’ve never cried this hard before”, giving me an insight into her vulnerability and how she had become her mother’s daughter.
The lazy days of summer were closing in, my babysitting gig about to start. As I envisioned how the days would unfold, bouncy chair, pack and play and stroller ready, my anxiety was mounting. My to-do lists were written and rewritten, making sure all was set for the first Tuesday (Tuesday and Thursday my designated days). It was in the second week, Tuesday to be exact that I became undone. I should of known that the routine would not be usual when she cried to be fed at 8:30am not the typical 9:00am. From that time on she went from a whimper, to a strong suggestion, to a “go cry it on the mountain”. I thought my head was going to explode as I looked around the kitchen to find at least three drunk cups of tea, realizing I had not eaten lunch! I tried, really I tried to soothe her. Every time I laid her down to nap, she let me have it, not a happening thing. I wasn’t sure if my head was pounding from lack of food or the circles this “dear” had me going in. In all of this my daughter called to say she’ll be getting home early, “is that Quinn I hear?” inquiry turning to horror. Yes, I replied with no explanation. “I can come pick Quinn up if you like”. No, I replied, I need to get out and stop by the post office on the way out.
As I approached the place of exchange, she had fallen asleep. The look of apprehension on my daughter’s face slowly dissipated my exhaustion, she was in shock. I remember saying I had a bad day and longed to get home to the other half drunk cup of tea. In the ensuing days my daughter eased me into the ways of her child. There I was, thinking I knew everything, my daughter still a child not knowing how to raise her baby. Things got a lot easier. Now she naps for close to three hours at a time, we communicate, look at pictures, she blows raspberries and no, she’s not a monster
Baby Monster
The text message read “I’m glad she’s not being a monster!”
Quinn was born on May 1st around 4:00am weighing about 6lbs. We were all surprised, expecting a much larger baby since Matt and Jacquelyn (the parents) are 6′ and taller.
Pacing the kitchen floor watching the hands of the clock that never seemed to move, I set out as daylight was just breaking to visit my first grandchild. My daughter’s red lips were more pronounced on her ashen face as she exclaimed, “what are you doing here?” I guess I didn’t get the memo, not to visit until beckoned. The awkwardness was momentary as I gave my daughter her first hug as a mother. She didn’t know it, I was weeping inside as I felt her frail body tremble, wishing I could of relieved her of the pain she had just experienced.
All the chatter about centimeters, labor pains etc. changed to exhilaration when the “little nugget” (as my daughter called her), arrived home, looking small among the usual baby shower paraphernalia.
It was agreed by the elders and Quinn’s parents that she would not go to daycare until she reached 6 months, leaving the grandparents 3 months of babysitting.
I had the summer to get acquainted with the little one and loved the times I visited particularly getting reacquainted with my daughter. We always had a good relationship, both managing to survive the teenage years. Now she was a mother, arriving downstairs hair disheveled, eyes red from lack of sleep trying to make a connection with this little being that did little more than sleep, eat, poop and cry. Boy, did she cry. She was colic.
Something else was happening as I saw my daughter juggle caring for a baby, keeping house and struggle with the day to day isolation of being home alone. She had a job waiting for her, finding herself confronted with the notion of being wonder woman, doing all or finding some way to make adjustments to meet her needs. It all came to a head when she broke down after receiving a nonchalant reply to her calling “their bluff” on a job prospect, simultaneously receiving a job offer from another company. As she blurted out “I guess I needed this, I’ve never cried this hard before”, giving me an insight into her vulnerability and how she had become her mother’s daughter.
The lazy days of summer were closing in, my babysitting gig about to start. As I envisioned how the days would unfold, bouncy chair, pack and play and stroller ready, my anxiety was mounting. My to-do lists were written and rewritten, making sure all was set for the first Tuesday (Tuesday and Thursday my designated days). It was in the second week, Tuesday to be exact that I became undone. I should of known that the routine would not be usual when she cried to be fed at 8:30am not the typical 9:00am. From that time on she went from a whimper, to a strong suggestion, to a “go cry it on the mountain”. I thought my head was going to explode as I looked around the kitchen to find at least three drunk cups of tea, realizing I had not eaten lunch! I tried, really I tried to soothe her. Every time I laid her down to nap, she let me have it, not a happening thing. I wasn’t sure if my head was pounding from lack of food or the circles this “dear” had me going in. In all of this my daughter called to say she’ll be getting home early, “is that Quinn I hear?” inquiry turning to horror. Yes, I replied with no explanation. “I can come pick Quinn up if you like”. No, I replied, I need to get out and stop by the post office on the way out.
As I approached the place of exchange, she had fallen asleep. The look of apprehension on my daughter’s face slowly dissipated my exhaustion, she was in shock. I remember saying I had a bad day and longed to get home to the other half drunk cup of tea. In the ensuing days my daughter eased me into the ways of her child. There I was, thinking I knew everything, my daughter still a child not knowing how to raise her baby. Things got a lot easier. Now she naps for close to three hours at a time, we communicate, look at pictures, she blows raspberries and no, she’s not a monster
Baby Monster
The text message read “I’m glad she’s not being a monster!”
Quinn was born on May 1st around 4:00am weighing about 6lbs. We were all surprised, expecting a much larger baby since Matt and Jacquelyn (the parents) are 6′ and taller.
Pacing the kitchen floor watching the hands of the clock that never seemed to move, I set out as daylight was just breaking to visit my first grandchild. My daughter’s red lips were more pronounced on her ashen face as she exclaimed, “what are you doing here?” I guess I didn’t get the memo, not to visit until beckoned. The awkwardness was momentary as I gave my daughter her first hug as a mother. She didn’t know it, I was weeping inside as I felt her frail body tremble, wishing I could of relieved her of the pain she had just experienced.
All the chatter about centimeters, labor pains etc. changed to exhilaration when the “little nugget” (as my daughter called her), arrived home, looking small among the usual baby shower paraphernalia.
It was agreed by the elders and Quinn’s parents that she would not go to daycare until she reached 6 months, leaving the grandparents 3 months of babysitting.
I had the summer to get acquainted with the little one and loved the times I visited particularly getting reacquainted with my daughter. We always had a good relationship, both managing to survive the teenage years. Now she was a mother, arriving downstairs hair disheveled, eyes red from lack of sleep trying to make a connection with this little being that did little more than sleep, eat, poop and cry. Boy, did she cry. She was colic.
Something else was happening as I saw my daughter juggle caring for a baby, keeping house and struggle with the day to day isolation of being home alone. She had a job waiting for her, finding herself confronted with the notion of being wonder woman, doing all or finding some way to make adjustments to meet her needs. It all came to a head when she broke down after receiving a nonchalant reply to her calling “their bluff” on a job prospect, simultaneously receiving a job offer from another company. As she blurted out “I guess I needed this, I’ve never cried this hard before”, giving me an insight into her vulnerability and how she had become her mother’s daughter.
The lazy days of summer were closing in, my babysitting gig about to start. As I envisioned how the days would unfold, bouncy chair, pack and play and stroller ready, my anxiety was mounting. My to-do lists were written and rewritten, making sure all was set for the first Tuesday (Tuesday and Thursday my designated days). It was in the second week, Tuesday to be exact that I became undone. I should of known that the routine would not be usual when she cried to be fed at 8:30am not the typical 9:00am. From that time on she went from a whimper, to a strong suggestion, to a “go cry it on the mountain”. I thought my head was going to explode as I looked around the kitchen to find at least three drunk cups of tea, realizing I had not eaten lunch! I tried, really I tried to soothe her. Every time I laid her down to nap, she let me have it, not a happening thing. I wasn’t sure if my head was pounding from lack of food or the circles this “dear” had me going in. In all of this my daughter called to say she’ll be getting home early, “is that Quinn I hear?” inquiry turning to horror. Yes, I replied with no explanation. “I can come pick Quinn up if you like”. No, I replied, I need to get out and stop by the post office on the way out.
As I approached the place of exchange, she had fallen asleep. The look of apprehension on my daughter’s face slowly dissipated my exhaustion, she was in shock. I remember saying I had a bad day and longed to get home to the other half drunk cup of tea. In the ensuing days my daughter eased me into the ways of her child. There I was, thinking I knew everything, my daughter still a child not knowing how to raise her baby. Things got a lot easier. Now she naps for close to three hours at a time, we communicate, look at pictures, she blows raspberries and no, she’s not a monster
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