They tell you that you don’t know anything really until you are married, and then they tell you that you don’t know anything until you have a child.
And so, I got married.
And I have a child.
I know less than I knew before.
It is crying, weighing in my arms like a load of bricks.
They say when you hold your child for the first time. It’s like you are holding the whole world.
I am crushed under the world I am holding.
It is not stopping to cry.
Please stop crying. Please.
It’s a girl. I think. I am looking right at it, and I see through it. I am in a white bed, with a white sheet, and I am in pain.
“She looks like you.” The daddy says.
“No, it doesn’t.” there is something stuck in my throat
It is sad. It is sad that I am holding it. When the nurses hold it, it doesn’t cry. When its daddy holds it, it doesn’t cry. It only cries when I hold it.
I shove it into the nurses arms.
“One more day and we can go home.” The Daddy says. “With our beautiful baby girl.”
I don’t see beautiful. I only see in grey scale.
“Remember the baby room.” he pry’s...