Mama Didn't Know Best

 

Like they did most afternoons, the two went on a walk—Mama in a dress, pushing Baby in a stroller.

Two months old, babbling in spurts of improvisational monologues.

This was a dreadfully brief leave for maternity.

It was safer at work, but Baby wouldn't be able to stay there with her while she served the public.

Mama dreaded to think what would happen to Baby when she wasn't home to monitor.

She didn't yet know the elongating sucker of the breast pump,

the excruciating pressure,

or the scent of the isolation ward, cold and stale.

But home was its own breed of isolation ward. It was the sheer opposite of sensation.

An antisocial space.

Feigning mindfulness, she told herself that now was now—on this walk, she had full control.

Mama knew that baby sensed her fear when Papa advanced in a rage, looming over her, looming over them.

Despite his lack of enormity.

On the walk, the green and brown stroller was camouflaged. It was safe.

If only the two could camouflage at home, blend into the walls, fade into the furniture...

Mama looked across the valley to the hills where she had once hiked, pink-cheeked with pregnancy and hopeful that things would get better at home.

Baby looked up with his tiny face. 

What was going to happen?

Mama didn't have an answer.

So on they walked. Home.