LJ Idol Week #15: Gone
Nov. 15th, 2024 03:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chasing_silverJohn was gone, of course. He always was at times like these.
Lily paced the floor, frantically ticking off the last places she might have seen Kim. She had changed him not an hour ago and, worn with the near-constant screaming, had placed him down in the crib and closed the bedroom door. She had just needed peace. Just a little bit of peace.
Kim was a hefty child, bigger than the doctors had accounted for and consistently, insatiably hungry. It was like the boy was just one bottomless pit. He grew humongous, it seemed to Lily, but he never seemed to stop needing to eat constantly. Tired of the pain of her cracked, bleeding nipples, Lily had given way to 8 oz bottles of formula at only 4 months old. Now Kim was gargantuan, almost monstrous, weighing close to 25 lbs at 6 months.
And he never smiled, not ever. All he did was scream, his red, gaping maw of a mouth emitting constant high-pitched wailing. The doctor had nothing for her. “He’s just a big boy, always wanting more. He isn’t actually as hungry as he seems. Just cut him off if you feel he’s had more than the recommended amount for the day. And consider starting solids.”
But solid food had made it worse. If anything, Kim was hungrier than ever. Sitting, rotund on the little carpet she’d bought for his room, he was like the sun pictured on that little solar system-themed rug - they all ran in rings around him, trying to satisfy his need to eat, to be entertained, to be there, day after day after day.
And John was always gone. He never seemed to see Kim for how Lily saw him - as a constant drain of energy. Once he had asked her, “Do you even love our son? All you do is complain about him, Lily. You need help,” and maybe she did, no, scratch that - she definitely did - but darkly, she thought that of course it’s like a man to never understand the constant drain of motherhood. Even if Kim was the happiest, easiest baby in the world. Children are hard. Motherhood is hard. And Lily had no help.
So when Kim had deigned to finally stop his siren wailing and sleep, Lily had sunk gratefully into the bed across the hall and just closed her eyes for what seemed like only five minutes. But when she woke up, her baby was gone.
The doors were locked, as they were when she put Kim down. The windows weren’t open on this grey Sunday afternoon. It was November and cold, the trees raking the sky with their bare, questioning branches. No one could have gotten in to take him.
Lily wandered the upstairs hall. Each room, to her, seemed like a different world. Her master bedroom, with its flowered wallpaper almost grey in the dull light from the windows. She’d had him in a bassinet here for awhile before the screaming overnight had gotten to her - John of course never stopping his everlasting snoring, either - and she’d moved him into his room earlier than she’d uneasily felt comfortable with. After all, good mothers didn’t kick their children out at only three months old. Good mothers, the ones on Instagram, advocated sleeping with their children for their entire childhood. Lily wasn’t a good mother; she was a barely adequate mother, and she knew it, she thought, and headed into the guest room. Maybe she’d missed him here, she’d placed him on the bed instead of in the crib … who knew what was what these long grey days?
But Kim wasn’t here, either. This room was blue - a pale, sky blue that always made Lily think of spring. She slept here often just for the peace and quiet. She craved the peace and quiet. But today, the blue seemed hostile, almost dark against the pale, dull light. She didn’t find her baby. She didn’t find her sanity. Lily closed the guest room door.
She already knew Kim wasn’t in his fun, space-themed room. She’d had such joy decorating that for him, back when she was pregnant and had no idea what she was getting into. She thought it would encourage him to think bigger, to want to explore further. But all Kim did was sit on the rug and shriek, so clearly, she’d failed there, too.
Lily turned to the stairs and sighed. He couldn’t crawl, he could barely move. There was no way he’d be down those stairs. John had left hours ago. Her baby was just gone.
And maybe he should be gone, thought Lily. I never could satisfy anyone in this house, not my husband, not my son.
She turned to go back to the master and suddenly heard a snuffle coming from behind Kim’s door. It sounded suspiciously like Kim’s intake of breath just before one of his marathon wailing sessions, and Lily held her breath. She’d checked and checked and checked there! How could he be there now when he hadn’t been there before?
The snuffle turned into sobs, which turned into screams. Lily pushed the door, but it refused to open. The screams became louder and louder, and Lily threw her shoulder against the door, letting out a shriek of frustration, too. Her baby needed her and she couldn’t get in!
“I’m sorry I ever said I didn’t want to be a mother,” she sobbed against the hard, unyielding wood. “I’m sorry I ever thought that I didn’t want to do this anymore. Just let me in!”
With a final burst of effort, Lily slammed her shoulder against the door, hard, and saw stars burst behind her eyes. Everything went black.
After what seemed like an eternity, Lily’s eyes opened suddenly. The sun was shining directly into them, and she blinked in confusion before sitting up in her master bedroom. From the baby monitor on the bedside table, she heard Kim’s screams, tinny and angry, through the speaker.
Lily got up so fast that her sight went black. When it cleared, she sprinted towards the bedroom door and rushed into Kim’s room.
She almost sat down on the floor with relief. Her baby was lying, kicking his legs, safely in his crib, crying in impatience for his mother to come and pick him up.
She smiled at him and reached in to get him, her knees weak with relief and gratitude that Kim was here and not lost to her.
As she picked him up, for the first time since he had learned to smile at 8 weeks old, Kim looked into her eyes, stopped crying, and smiled back at her.
This has been an entry for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
therealljidol. The prompt this week was from Douglas Adams’s novel “The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul”, and the meaning behind it was “that listless, desperate feeling you feel on Sunday afternoons”.
If you liked this entry, please vote for it and others you enjoy! Voting link to come. Thank you!
Lily paced the floor, frantically ticking off the last places she might have seen Kim. She had changed him not an hour ago and, worn with the near-constant screaming, had placed him down in the crib and closed the bedroom door. She had just needed peace. Just a little bit of peace.
Kim was a hefty child, bigger than the doctors had accounted for and consistently, insatiably hungry. It was like the boy was just one bottomless pit. He grew humongous, it seemed to Lily, but he never seemed to stop needing to eat constantly. Tired of the pain of her cracked, bleeding nipples, Lily had given way to 8 oz bottles of formula at only 4 months old. Now Kim was gargantuan, almost monstrous, weighing close to 25 lbs at 6 months.
And he never smiled, not ever. All he did was scream, his red, gaping maw of a mouth emitting constant high-pitched wailing. The doctor had nothing for her. “He’s just a big boy, always wanting more. He isn’t actually as hungry as he seems. Just cut him off if you feel he’s had more than the recommended amount for the day. And consider starting solids.”
But solid food had made it worse. If anything, Kim was hungrier than ever. Sitting, rotund on the little carpet she’d bought for his room, he was like the sun pictured on that little solar system-themed rug - they all ran in rings around him, trying to satisfy his need to eat, to be entertained, to be there, day after day after day.
And John was always gone. He never seemed to see Kim for how Lily saw him - as a constant drain of energy. Once he had asked her, “Do you even love our son? All you do is complain about him, Lily. You need help,” and maybe she did, no, scratch that - she definitely did - but darkly, she thought that of course it’s like a man to never understand the constant drain of motherhood. Even if Kim was the happiest, easiest baby in the world. Children are hard. Motherhood is hard. And Lily had no help.
So when Kim had deigned to finally stop his siren wailing and sleep, Lily had sunk gratefully into the bed across the hall and just closed her eyes for what seemed like only five minutes. But when she woke up, her baby was gone.
The doors were locked, as they were when she put Kim down. The windows weren’t open on this grey Sunday afternoon. It was November and cold, the trees raking the sky with their bare, questioning branches. No one could have gotten in to take him.
Lily wandered the upstairs hall. Each room, to her, seemed like a different world. Her master bedroom, with its flowered wallpaper almost grey in the dull light from the windows. She’d had him in a bassinet here for awhile before the screaming overnight had gotten to her - John of course never stopping his everlasting snoring, either - and she’d moved him into his room earlier than she’d uneasily felt comfortable with. After all, good mothers didn’t kick their children out at only three months old. Good mothers, the ones on Instagram, advocated sleeping with their children for their entire childhood. Lily wasn’t a good mother; she was a barely adequate mother, and she knew it, she thought, and headed into the guest room. Maybe she’d missed him here, she’d placed him on the bed instead of in the crib … who knew what was what these long grey days?
But Kim wasn’t here, either. This room was blue - a pale, sky blue that always made Lily think of spring. She slept here often just for the peace and quiet. She craved the peace and quiet. But today, the blue seemed hostile, almost dark against the pale, dull light. She didn’t find her baby. She didn’t find her sanity. Lily closed the guest room door.
She already knew Kim wasn’t in his fun, space-themed room. She’d had such joy decorating that for him, back when she was pregnant and had no idea what she was getting into. She thought it would encourage him to think bigger, to want to explore further. But all Kim did was sit on the rug and shriek, so clearly, she’d failed there, too.
Lily turned to the stairs and sighed. He couldn’t crawl, he could barely move. There was no way he’d be down those stairs. John had left hours ago. Her baby was just gone.
And maybe he should be gone, thought Lily. I never could satisfy anyone in this house, not my husband, not my son.
She turned to go back to the master and suddenly heard a snuffle coming from behind Kim’s door. It sounded suspiciously like Kim’s intake of breath just before one of his marathon wailing sessions, and Lily held her breath. She’d checked and checked and checked there! How could he be there now when he hadn’t been there before?
The snuffle turned into sobs, which turned into screams. Lily pushed the door, but it refused to open. The screams became louder and louder, and Lily threw her shoulder against the door, letting out a shriek of frustration, too. Her baby needed her and she couldn’t get in!
“I’m sorry I ever said I didn’t want to be a mother,” she sobbed against the hard, unyielding wood. “I’m sorry I ever thought that I didn’t want to do this anymore. Just let me in!”
With a final burst of effort, Lily slammed her shoulder against the door, hard, and saw stars burst behind her eyes. Everything went black.
After what seemed like an eternity, Lily’s eyes opened suddenly. The sun was shining directly into them, and she blinked in confusion before sitting up in her master bedroom. From the baby monitor on the bedside table, she heard Kim’s screams, tinny and angry, through the speaker.
Lily got up so fast that her sight went black. When it cleared, she sprinted towards the bedroom door and rushed into Kim’s room.
She almost sat down on the floor with relief. Her baby was lying, kicking his legs, safely in his crib, crying in impatience for his mother to come and pick him up.
She smiled at him and reached in to get him, her knees weak with relief and gratitude that Kim was here and not lost to her.
As she picked him up, for the first time since he had learned to smile at 8 weeks old, Kim looked into her eyes, stopped crying, and smiled back at her.
This has been an entry for
therealljidol. The prompt this week was from Douglas Adams’s novel “The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul”, and the meaning behind it was “that listless, desperate feeling you feel on Sunday afternoons”. If you liked this entry, please vote for it and others you enjoy! Voting link to come. Thank you!
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Date: 2024-11-21 04:12 pm (UTC)