To catch a break

The mother obeys the playful tumble of candlelight as it beckons her into the muggy room, and she breathes.

Deeply.

Her lungs are coated by the scent of lavender bath oil that it feels like all new mums are given, combined with burning wicks and melting wax. Her eyes relax and soften in the dimmed light. Her skin begins to prickle.

She closes the bathroom door behind her, and removes her baby-stained, baggy clothes, placing them next to the bubbling tub with a cup of tea, her phone and her notebook.

As she slips into the bath, tiny bubbles across the surface of the water burst on her skin, sending glorious shivers along her tired body. Below that, the warm water supports her weight. She needs that support right now more than ever. Being a new parent has hit her hard; it’s exhausting, overwhelming, full of unexpected and downright weird situations that you could never prepare for, like the photo reel on her phone of different shades of mustard poop that she hopes none of her friends will ever find. She just needs a break.

The bath begins to relax her, and her hand reaches automatically for her phone. As she unlocks it, the bright blue light of the screen clashes with the muted hues of the room making her wince. But as we all know, the pull of the screen is stronger than the momentary physical discomfort on the eyes.

----

A door opens and she starts out across the virgin snow in the morning light, boots crunch crunch-ing rather than their normal stomp stomp. Everything is coated with a frosty layer; the trees, the bushes and the tufty grass; the dog poo, the bins and the rubbish that missed its mark; all hidden beneath an iridescent shimmer. But she is shielded from the normal biting cold and numb fingers that come with such a beautiful scene. In her current existence of tense nerves and physical exhaustion, any protection is a blessing.

——

The baby giggles, kicking his impossibly chubby thighs. She gazes at him with affection as he spits up a bubble. Hand tickles him in the tummy, leading to more high pitched mirth. The baby is lying on the play mat she admired before having her own kid, but ruled out as costs mounted. He looks happy lying on this soft mat, while her own little one uses the second hand one she found on Facebook marketplace. Babies don’t know the difference, she reminds herself. They just need love and nappies.

——

Another virgin snow scene, equally beautiful (but when is untouched snow not?). A corgi sprints past her into the darkening afternoon and almost disappears in a snowdrift, leaving just a tufty butt visible, tail wagging in the air.

——

She chinks her glass with his, gazing into his eyes. In front of them is a meal for two - spaghetti, prawns, tomatoes, some kind of herb, glistening with oil in candlelight. She blinks, and the woman gets up, simpering as she strikes a pose that shows off her perfectly proportioned, never-had-a-baby figure in a skintight velvet jumpsuit and coordinating headband. Stylish heels are unnecessarily high for a dinner at home. Statement pieces swing from her ears, so heavy you can only presume she can’t wear them for long. Outfit details tagged. Swipe up.

-----

Time passes. The bath cools. The mother scrolls. Another table setting. Another idyllic couple. Another outfit. Even another dog with its adorable butt.

Enough.

The mother snaps out of it, shaking her head. While she is starting to chill, there is enough warmth to salvage some time for reflecting on her own life; for journaling to memorialise the moments of joy among the exhaustion, as she had planned, rather than passively watching what she knows are the edited highlights of other people’s lives. She picks up the black notebook.

But as she flicks through the pages to find the next blank page, she remembers a scratchcard she bought alongside the weekly shop. The baby had chosen that moment to start screaming, and she hadn’t had the chance to play it, instead stashing the scratchcard safely among the pages of her deepest thoughts.

Her nails are way too long, the result of the prenatal vitamins she still takes religiously. Just the nail on the little finger is a manageable length, thanks to a habit of tearing the length off before using her pinkie to prise the baby off her nipple when he bites or pulls. She uses her short nail to scratch away the foil.

Cross. Cross. Cross. Three in a row.

She frowns, checking the back of the card. Twenty grand for three in a row. But she can’t have won.

She can’t. She never catches a break like this.

Heart thudding, her feet skid against the sides of the bath and she grips the rim with her spare hand, slipping slightly as she hauls herself out, holding the ticket away from the tepid water and her now dripping body. She wraps herself in a towel and runs back along the dark corridor to face her partner, leaving a stream of suds and the sights of social media in her wake.

She races into the living room, to find her partner curled up with the baby. Both are fast asleep, breathing rhythmically. The baby’s tiny hand rests on his dad's large one. Eyes closed, they look peaceful, beautiful.

Safe.

Heart full, she knows - she was already rich.