TITLE: The Psychic Evolution of a Girl Named Debby
GENRE: Commercial Fiction
The baby nurses and nurses and my breasts are swollen and leaking with warm, stinging milk. She cries and cries--it never stops--not with pacing, rocking, singing, nothing. I want to scream, "Shut the f*** up!" but that would make me a bad mother.
The wails are endless and without reason--she's a damn howler monkey. I download the lyrics to a bunch of vintage lullabies, like "Hush Little Baby," (Please, dear God, hush already!) and "Lullaby and Goodnight" and I threaten to send her to the orphanage, which disgusts my husband. He's lucky I'm not threatening to throw her out the window.
And my two-year-old tugs at my skirt--a mini while I still can--and whines for "snackies." I hate that f****** word.
I pray to God, Buddha, Jesus and Barney to save me.
I haven't slept in three days, and I feel like I've had a traumatic brain injury. I'm in a walking coma and can barely make sense of my surroundings, most of which are pink and covered with curtseying princesses.
My eyes stick together when I blink and my hands shake when I try to smear lipstick on my brittle lips. I look at my husband and wonder what happened to my Prince Charming. I