K. Randis - Spilled Milk

I was exhausted. Paul took the back burner and the only time I saw him was when he came over to my house, which wasn’t often. I missed him, even when we started fighting over what he did with his free time which consisted of dabbling in alcohol and weed.

Cristin would come over to hold Ethan and play with him and more than once I would find myself asleep with him on my chest in the living room or on my bedroom floor while I folded laundry.

I cradled him on my lap as I typed up book reports for my English Honors class that upcoming year. He accompanied me in the bathroom, while I cleaned the house, and when I played with Kat and Thomas. I bathed him, dressed him, burped him, and rocked him when he had an upset stomach. I fell in love with him.

I became so engrossed in watching Ethan breathe and grow that it took me two months to realize I couldn’t remember the last time I had my period. Dad left for work that night and Ethan had just taken his last bottle. When everyone else was asleep, I pulled a chair away from the computer desk in the kitchen and turned the computer on, placing the baby monitor next to me.

It roared to life and I waited the ten minutes it usually took to boot up. A few clicks and I opened up Google. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for so I typed in ‘LATE PERIOD.’

Several websites popped up, the top three flashed titles of pregnancy related late periods and menstrual cycles. I opened the first link and scanned the article.

“Yes, your missed period might be because you're pregnant! A simple pregnancy test can usually help you determine if you have missed your period because you are pregnant.”

Clicking the x in the corner I shook my head and looked for information elsewhere. Another article caught my attention. I read on:

“Pregnancy due dates can be determined by knowing the first day of your last period with a simple online due date calculator. Prenatal care is extremely important in the first trimester.”

The article disappeared and I scrambled to type in pregnancy calculator. I couldn’t think straight but I remembered my last period being in June, right before I went to Florida.

“All right, figure June 18 th, just to be safe,” I said out loud. I scrolled through the date selection and turned away from the screen when the results popped up:

Congratulations!

Your baby is due on or around: MARCH 24 th

You are currently: 7 ½ weeks pregnant

Symptoms at this time: Constipation, light headedness, some nausea…

As if on cue, I fell from the computer chair and ran to the bathroom. After a few minutes I wiped my mouth and splashed cold water on my face. This couldn’t be happening. Paul and I haven’t had sex since that one time months ago, way before I could have gotten pregnant.

Weary, I headed back into the kitchen to grab the baby monitor that started to glow a soft green. Ethan was awake. I didn’t have time to deal with this.

I fought sleep that night thinking about the possibility that I might be pregnant. My hand stretched across my stomach and I begged for my period to just be late and to show its ugly face the next day. When it didn’t, I put it off for three more days before the nausea and exhaustion were indication enough. I knew I was carrying Dad’s baby.

Eye’s sore from crying, I cradled my stomach as I tortured myself on what to do next. Who was ever going to believe this? I couldn’t just ask someone to drive me to the pharmacy to get a pregnancy test. Who was going to take care of Ethan? How could I hide this? I don’t even know anything about abortions, or having a baby. I only take care of them when other people won’t.

Drenched in sweat, a pain in my stomach jumped me from my sleep that night. I grabbed my clock and turned it around; 2:47 A.M. Thinking it was a cramp and that my period was finally starting I turned over and was faced with another jolt of pain down my back and around the front of my stomach.

“Ughhh,” I moaned, trudging towards the bathroom, suddenly nauseous. When I didn’t get sick, I sat and rocked myself on the toilet waiting for each wave of pain to pass. I stifled my voice as much as I could, trying not to cry out. The room started to sway. “Stay with it, Brooke. No one’s here to pick you up off the floor if you pass out.” I coached myself out loud, pinching the space between my eyes.

A rush of relief in my stomach was met with intense fear as I noticed all the blood. It could only mean one thing. I remained motionless for a few more minutes, then started to sob uncontrollably as I shed my clothes and turned the shower on full blast. I placed myself on the bottom of the tub and watched the red sea of water stream out from underneath me and disappear down the drain.

My body rocked and swayed and I found comfort in the pellets of water kissing my body. Still facing stomach cramps, I toweled off and pulled on a panty liner. I swallowed three ibuprofen and crept back to my bedroom. The clock was still facing me as I laid down, and it read 5:16 A.M. I was in the bathroom for over two hours. I clicked on the heating pad I used for period cramps and drifted into sleep.

“Was that you taking a shower earlier?” Mom noticed my damp hair as I made my way into the kitchen around ten that morning. “You not feeling good? Adam had to feed Ethan because you weren’t awake.”

I nodded, not bothering to look up. “I’m sick, Mom. I had to shower.” I poured a glass of water and headed back upstairs. The world could end today and I didn’t care, I wasn’t leaving my bed that day. And I didn’t. I didn’t leave the next day either, or the day after that.

“You don’t have the flu.” Mom pressed her lips to my forehead. “I haven’t heard you throw up or anything. You’ve been in bed for three days.” I stared through her. I didn’t even have the energy to humor her. No energy to lie, or talk, or even care.

On the sixth day, when everyone was getting ready to go to an end of summer barbeque, I had lined up twenty one pills on my bedroom floor. Composed of a concoction of Vicodin, Percocet, Ibuprofen, Oxycontin and Valium that I borrowed from Mom’s medicine cabinet I color coded them before putting them all in a drinking glass.

The reality was that I had become so numb that I couldn’t do this anymore, the charade; the double life. I was David’s wife, his slave, his play thing- and not by choice. I failed to alert anyone I knew as to what was happening, and I didn’t have the strength or words to explain to anyone what was going on. Terrified, I knew that what was happening between Dad and I was not normal, but it seemed like there was no way to stop it.

I had failed my brothers and sister. The honor roll student, mother’s helper, cheerleader, perfect child was giving up. I opened my journal to the next clean page, ripped out a piece of paper and scrawled my last entry.

Your secret has died with me.

I set the paper down next to me. Defeated, I opened my mouth and listened as the pills slid toward the front of the glass. Harsh knocking on my bedroom door jolted me and I hid the cup behind the leg of my bed.

“What?” I yelled.

“Brooke.” It was Kat. “Phone call.”

I didn’t care. “Take a message.” I waited to hear footsteps walking away.

“It’s Paul. He’s called three times. He won’t let me hang up.”

I stuffed the note under my pillow and opened the bedroom door, grabbing the phone. “Okay. Now go away please.” I sat cross legged on the floor. “Hello?”

“I had a horrible dream about you last night. I never dream.” His voice was panicked. “Look, I know you are going through a lot right now with your mom, and the baby. And I haven’t been there for you like I should have. I’m really sorry. All day I’ve had a stomach ache thinking about you, and what it would mean if I lost you. I’ve kinda been a jerk, and I want to make it up to you, okay? Come over tomorrow night? Just me and you, no baby, no parents. My mom and dad are going to dinner and Joseph is going to a friend’s house. Does that sound okay? I really want to see you.”