Do you notice that your formerly fearless little guy is suddenly afraid of everything when youre out of sight?
The neighbors adorable dog is now a terrifying predator.
The shadow on the ceiling has become an armless ghoul.
Credit: Harper
How fast the time goes.
How itll all be over in a blink of an eye.
How before we know it, theyll be walking, talking, leaving us.
Its been four hundred and eleven days, and time hasnt gone fast at all.
Ive been trying to imagine what Dr. H would say.
The light in the mornings.
The feel of the rain.
Ive never liked that term.Mommy.
Its so fraught, so political.
We werentmommies.We were mothers.
Women who just happened to ovu- late on the same schedule and then give birth the same month.
Strangers who chosefor the good of the babies, for the sake of our sanityto become friends.
About finding out we were pregnant.
Our clever way of telling our mothers.
Trading ideas for baby names and concerns about our pelvic floors.
Welcometo the world, little one!
The group changed a lot in the beginning.
But I could always count on the three regulars to be there.
First, there was Francie.
Miss Eager-to-Be-Liked, to not screw anything up, so plump with hope and rich Southern carbs.
And then Colette, everyones girl crush, our trusted friend.
And finally Nell: British, cool, eschewing the books and the expert advice.
(I really shouldnt have that chocolate-chip muffin.
That third gin and tonic.)
Keen attention to sleep cues.
Wearing the baby at every opportunity, like he was a statement piece splurged for at Bloomingdales.
Its no wonder I eventually started loathing them.
Really, who can stand to listen to that level of certainty?
To sit through the judgment?
What if you cant keep up with it all?
What if youre not breastfeeding?
What if you simply dont have the energy to bring a snack to share?
Colette brought the muffins.
Shed unfasten the paper box and pass them around, over the bodies of the babies.
Win- nie, Nell, Scarlett, help yourselves, shed say.
Theyre out of this world.
My own stomach was already as flat and taut as it had been before I got pregnant.
I can thank my mother for that.
Good genesthats what people have always said about me.
Theyre talking about the fact that I am tall and thin, that I have a nearly symmetrical face.
What they are not talking about are theothergenes Ive inherited.
The ones bestowed to me not by my equally symmetrical mother, but from my exceptionally bipolar dad.
Joshuas genes are no better.
His own crazy father: the brilliant doctor, so warm and charming with patients.
The violent alcoholic behind closed doors.
Of course I didnt mention any of thismy genes, Joshua, his dadto the May Mothers.
I didnt tell them how hard everything was without Joshua.
How much I loved him.
How I would have given up everything everythingto be with him again.
Even for just one night.
I couldnt tell them that.
I couldnt tell anyone that.
Well, thingsdidntget easier.
Ive been blamed for what happened that Fourth of July night.
But not a day goes by that I dont remind myself of the truth.
Its not my fault.
Its because of them that Midas went missing, and I lost everything.
If I hadnt signed up for their group.
If theyd chosen another date, or another bar, or someone other than Alma to babysit that night.
If the thing with the phone hadnt occurred.
