Midnight Blues

            Maybe I should fill the tub up with water and drown her in it. What’s the big deal? I see mothers on the news all the time going to jail for drowning their babies.
            “No!” I scream at myself. What is wrong with me? This is my precious Sophie, my first-born child. Why would a thought like that even cross my mind? I look over at my sweet baby to make sure I didn’t wake her with my sudden outburst. She’s still fast asleep and I continue to watch her for a moment, her tiny chest barely seems to move when she breathes in and out.
            “What is wrong with me,” I asked myself? How could anyone have such a horrid image in their head about their defenseless child? It was sickening. I walk over to my bed and lay down, my head facing away from Sophie. I begin to sob. Tears stream down my face as my chest heaves in and out. I pull the comforter up to my mouth so I can muffle the sounds of my crying. I don’t think I can handle motherhood, especially by myself. I think back on the day I told Seth that I was pregnant.

***

            “This chicken tastes great,” Seth told me as he piled another fork full into his mouth. “What did you season it with?”
            “I smothered it in mayonnaise and the seasoned it with garlic and Parmesan,” I told him. I wasn’t hungry right now. I cooked Seth this amazing dinner as sort of a foot in the door for what I had to tell him. Maybe by making him happy first, he wouldn’t be mad about me telling him he is going to be a father.
            “Well I’m no cook, Sarah, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t find myself a good woman who can do it for m…”
            “Seth, I’m pregnant,” I said. I couldn’t wait until later. “I found out last week.” Seth put his fork down on the plate and looked me straight in the eyes.
            “Is the baby mine,” he asked?
            “Of course it is,” I snapped back. He pondered this for a moment before picking up his fork and continued on eating.
            “Are you sure you read the test correctly,” he asked.
            “Seth, I’ve already been to the hospital. They’ve confirmed it,” I replied.
            “Okay then,” he said with a mouth full of chicken and mashed potatoes. “We can do this. There isn’t any other woman on this planet that I would want to have a mistake with.” My mouth dropped open. He referred to his unborn child as a mistake. I know it wasn’t planned, but to think of his child as a mistake was just inhumane. The following morning I woke up to find that Seth was gone along with all of his belongings. I sat up in the bed and called his name.
            “Seth!” No response came. I slipped out of the bed and reached for my gown. When I picked it up,  a small note that was resting on it fell to the ground. I opened it up and read it.
          

I can’t do this.

***

            I take a break from crying and reach over to grab the engagement ring Seth had given me a month before I found out about Sophie. I don’t know why I insist on keeping it around. The beautiful white gold glimmers beneath the lamp as I thumb the diamond, reminiscing about how happy we were. I begin to get anxious and can’t stop my legs from shifting.
           “Ugh!” I can’t sleep. I set the ring back down on the table and walk over to the window and open the curtains. It’s dark outside, but the blanket of snow reflects the moon and stars off of it enough to light up the parking lot. I always hope to see Seth’s beat up Mustang pull into the lot with the window rolled down and his arm resting just outside of it, a lit cigarette between his fingers. That would be a typical entrance for him. But I didn’t see anything.
            For the past I week I have told myself that I have been crying because I was depressed about Seth not being here to help me, but I wrote him off as a deadbeat and hadn’t felt like this until after Sophie was born. The doctor warned me before I left, he told me that Postpartum depression was something I needed to be on the lookout for and to come back and see him if I was experiencing any sobbing episodes, headaches, and even a lack of sleep. I’ve experienced all three of those symptoms, plus I keep having urges to smother my beautiful baby with a pillow. But I love her and would never harm her. I sit down in the rocking chair next to Sophie’s crib and watch her sleep. Sometimes it is peaceful to me to watch her like this, but other times I get sad and begin crying. After a few minutes pass, Sophie stirs herself awake and begins to cry. It’s feeding time. Her screeching wails piss me off and the feeling to throw her out the window comes into my mind again. Oh Lord what can I do. I subdue the urges, change Sophie’s diaper, and rock her to sleep with a bottle in her mouth. Ten minutes pass and she is completely out again. I lay her down and walk back over to my bed. I get under the sheets. I grab my cell phone off of the nightstand and dial my doctor’s number.
            “Yeah, um, hello,” he answered in a groggy voice.
            “Hi Doctor Johanson, it’s Sarah Griffin.”
            “Sarah, yes, is everything okay?”
            Tears fill my eyes and I reply in a shaky voice, “No. I’ve been crying all week and I cannot sleep. I need your help.”