Douglas Kennedy - A Special Relationship

'So you didn't kill him after all'.

Tony was standing in the door frame, looking at me with an exhausted middle-of-the-night wariness. I didn't meet his stare. I simply picked Jack up and brought him over to the changing mat, and started to unfasten his diaper.

'I'm sorry', I finally said, around the same time I was wiping Jack's bum free of milky shit.

'You had my secretary rather upset', Tony said. 'She actually hauled me out of the meeting with the editor, saying it was a family emergency. Thankfully she had the nous to say nothing more in front of His Lordship - but once I was outside his office, she informed me what you told her and then asked me if I wanted to call the police'.

I shut my eyes, and hung my head, and felt something approaching acute shame.

'Tony, I didn't know what I was saying...'

'Yes, I did sense that. Still, I thought it best to make certain that you hadn't taken the infanticide option, so I called home. When you didn't answer... well, I must admit that, for a moment or two, I actually did wonder if you had gone totally ballistic and done something irretrievably insane. So I thought it worth coming home. And when I walked in the door, there you both were, conked out. So I unplugged the baby alarm in his room, to let you sleep on'.

'You should have woken me'.

'You haven't been sleeping...'

'I told you I slept five hours last night', I said.

'And I knew you were lying straight away'.

Silence.

'You know, I'd never dream of hurting Jack...'

'I certainly hope not'.

'Oh Jesus, Tony... don't make me feel worse than I do'.

He just shrugged, then said, 'Jack will take a bottle, you know. Or, at least, he took it from me'.

'Well done', I said, not knowing what else to say. 'And you changed him as well?'

'So it seems. Sorry to have plugged the baby alarm back in. But once he was settled down, I thought I'd get back upstairs to the book...'

'No need to apologize. I should be up anyway'.

'You sure you're all right?'

Except for an appalling case of guilt, I was just fine.

'I'm so sorry'.

Tony just shrugged. 'You've said that already'.

I finished changing the diaper. I closed up Jack's baby-gro. I picked him up, settled us both down in the wicker chair, lifted up my teeshirt, and felt him clamp down hard on my nipple. I let out a small sigh of relief when the milk started flowing immediately.

'Oh, one other thing', Tony said. 'I took the liberty of making an appointment for you with the GP, tomorrow afternoon at two'.

'Why?' I said, though I already knew the answer to that question.

'Well, if you're not sleeping...'

'I'm sure it's just a passing phase'.

'Best to get it seen to, don't you think? And I've also phoned a company called Annie's Nannies - someone in the office recommended them - about getting you some help'.

'I don't need help. I'm fine. Anyway, a nanny's going to cost us lots'.

'Let me worry about that'.

I said nothing. Tony pointed his thumb in the direction of his office.

'Mind if I... ?'

'Work away' I said.

As soon as he was gone, I pressed my head down against Jack, and started to cry. But this teary episode was shortlived - as Jack reacted unfavourably to my shuddering body and showed his displeasure by biting down even harder on my breast: a corrective measure which let it be known that I should stay on task.

So I applied the emotional brakes, and sat there in silent shame, wondering how I could have said such a thing - and feeling, for the first time since his birth, this overwhelming need to protect Jack, and ensure that he came to no harm.

But as soon as I thought that, another unsettling rumination hit me: do I need to protect him against myself?

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night. Nor did I find time for a nap in the morning, as Jack was wide awake. So by the time Jack and I reached the doctor's surgery that afternoon, exhaustion was beginning to settle in on me again - something which my GP diagnosed immediately.

Fortunately, my doctor of choice - McCoy - was on duty, as I don't think I could have managed that dry little prig who saw me the last time. Immediately, Dr McCoy was pleasantly solicitous - and spent several minutes looking Jack over. She already knew everything about his difficult arrival. This made me instantly wonder if word had filtered back from the hospital that I had been such a drama queen while I'd been at the Mattingly. Then she turned her attention to me - and sensed that something was wrong.

'Is he keeping you up at night?' she asked.

'It's me who's keeping me up at night', I said, then explained my irregular sleep patterns over the past few days.

'You must sleep', she said. 'It's crucial for your well-being, and for your baby. So what I'd like to propose is a mild sedative that should help knock you out, should the sleeplessness return. One important question: have you also been feeling a bit depressed or down?'

I shook my head.

'You sure about that?' she asked. 'Because it's not at all unusual to suffer from such things when you're unable to sleep. In fact, I'd call it rather commonplace'.

'Honestly, all I need is a couple of nights of decent sleep...'

'Well, these pills should help you. One small, but important thing to remember - after you've taken one of the sedatives, you mustn't breastfeed for at least eight hours, as the drug will be in your system'.

'No worries about that', I said.

'And if the sleeplessness continues - or if you are starting to feel a little low - you really must come back to see me immediately. This is nothing to play around with'.

Heading home, I knew that she knew. Just as I knew that Tony had undoubtedly told her about my threat against Jack. No doubt, Dr McCoy had now filed me away under 'At Risk' as Hughes had obviously spoken with her about my assorted contretemps in the hospital. So she could tell I was lying. Just as Tony knew that I was lying about my ability to sleep the previous night. Just as everyone was now convinced that I was a diabolically inappropriate mother who couldn't handle even the simplest of maternal tasks. Because...

Oh God, it's starting again...

I slowly depressed the brake. I gripped the steering wheel. I felt myself beginning to seize up - that sense of diminution which made me feel as if everything had the potential to overwhelm me. Including the jerk in the Merc behind me. He leaned on his car horn in an attempt to get me moving.

He succeeded, as I released the brake and inched forward. But his blasts of the horn also managed to waken Jack - who continued to cry while I was getting my prescription filled at the chemists. He was still crying when we arrived home, and he continued to do so for the balance of the afternoon. I checked him thoroughly making certain that he wasn't suffering from diaper rash, gum infections, malnutrition, lockjaw, the bubonic plague, or any other horrors I could conjure up in my mind. I also offered him my ever-ready nipples - and two hours after he sucked me dry, switched him to bottled formula with no complaints.

Until, that is, he came off the bottle and started to roar again. In desperation, I picked up the phone and called Sandy. She immediately heard his sizeable wail.

'Now that's what I call a set of lungs', she said. 'How's it going?'

'Beyond bad' - and I told her everything, with the exception of the threat I made against Jack. I couldn't admit such a desperate error of judgment to anyone... even to the sister to whom I always confided everything.

'Well', she said, 'sounds like completely standard operating baby bullshit to me. And the nonstop crying could be colic - which certainly drove my guys ga-ga when they were infants, and also sent me bonkers. So I hear where you're coming from. But it will pass'.