CHAPTER 7 — The Bath
Home.
My family home.
I guess it was never really a family home.
Everyone talking at me.
Everyone telling me what to do.
Everyone visiting.
The mask on and off.
On and off.
I think I’m getting the hang of it —
the panic of adding the right amount of scoops to the formula.
My brain doesn’t work so well,
so I keep throwing it away and trying again,
because I worry I’ll hurt him.
Making bottles is a traumatic experience.
And then the milk kicks in.
No one told me about this.
I’m so lucky we have a friendly neighbour.
She dashes over with cabbage and hot flannels.
They run me a bath for the pain.
I can’t even imagine.
My stomach is tight.
My breasts are so big
they feel like they’re bursting out of their skin.
I’ve become the Hulk.
Just when I thought there was no more pain —
don’t touch me.
Hurts me more.
I’m getting in the bath.
I shut the door.
I put my head under the water.
It goes quiet.
Let me die quietly.
As I slip under the water,
as I feel myself let go of the side of the bath,
my youngest brother knocks on the bathroom door.
He tells me he needs the loo.
He wakes me from my insanity.
I pull myself out.
I put my dressing gown on.
I face the day.
Footnote The friendly neighbour, Jill Jones (if this where a book i would dedicate it to her) she was a force of nature, a real life Tornado.

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