Claiming Noah Read online

  ‘Tried it, he didn’t like it.’

  The nurse smiled again, not deterred by Catriona’s curt responses. ‘Have you tried feeding him in different positions? Some babies prefer to be fed lying down and others prefer to be upright.’

  ‘I’ve tried just about every position other than standing on my head.’

  ‘And none of them worked?’ the nurse asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  The nurse paused for a second and then looked down at the folder she had brought with her, ticking off items from a checklist. ‘Some mothers find if they rub a little bit of breast milk over their nipple it encourages the baby to latch on when they’re hungry. Have you tried—’

  ‘That didn’t work either.’

  Catriona knew it was cruel of her to enjoy the nurse’s obvious discomfort as she shot down each of her suggestions, but it was the most fun she had experienced since Sebastian was born. She watched as the nurse flipped through her folder, trying to find any method Catriona hadn’t tried.

  ‘Mothers often find a baby is more likely to feed when they’re sleepy,’ she said, seeming pleased with herself for finding another suggestion. ‘Why don’t you just wait until your baby is really sleepy and then you might find that you have a much easier time with him?’

  Catriona shook her head slowly, deliberately. ‘I’ve tried when he’s alert, when he’s sleepy, when he’s happy, when he’s sad. It doesn’t work. None of your suggestions have worked. He just doesn’t want to breast-feed.’ She stood up from the couch to indicate to the nurse that she should leave, but the nurse remained seated.

  ‘Well, at least he’s taking the bottle, so we know he’s getting enough to drink. But do keep trying with the breast-feeding, it’s so important for the bond with your baby. I’m sure you’ll find something that works for you. Don’t give up just yet.’

  That was all Catriona could take. ‘What are you? Twenty-two, twenty-three?’ She pointed at the nurse’s pert breasts filling out the bodice of her dress. ‘I bet they’ve never had a baby anywhere near them, have they?’

  ‘Well, no, but—’

  ‘Well then, you’re hardly in a position to tell me how to look after my son.’

  The nurse nodded, and finally the smile disappeared from her face. ‘Of course. I’m sorry I’ve upset you.’

  ‘I think it’s time for you to leave.’

  The nurse blinked at her a few times and then turned to a new page in her folder. ‘Before I do there are a few questions I’d like to go through with you. Do you mind?’

  Catriona did mind, but she reluctantly sat back down on the couch. ‘What are the questions about?’

  ‘They’re just to make sure you’re coping okay with motherhood. They screen for postnatal depression.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Catriona said automatically.

  ‘I’m sure you are. They’re just routine questions we have to ask all new mothers. Please be completely honest with your responses. Are you ready?’

  Catriona nodded.

  ‘Have you been able to laugh and see the funny side of things since you had the baby? Zero is as much as usual, one is not quite as much as usual, two is definitely less than usual, and three is not at all. How would you rate your response to that question?’

  Catriona thought about it. She’d laughed, hadn’t she? Maybe not since she had come home from the hospital, but she was sure she and James had a few laughs just after Sebastian was born.

  ‘One.’

  ‘Good, that’s good.’ The nurse made a note on her pad. ‘Have you had difficulty sleeping?’

  ‘I have a baby; what do you think?’

  ‘Aside from getting up to feed or settle your baby. Have you had difficulty sleeping because you’ve felt unhappy? Answer three for most of the time, two for sometimes, one for not often and zero for never.’

  Catriona knew her sleeping patterns were a mess, but everyone said that’s what happened when you had a baby. She could barely keep her eyes open during the day, but come night-time she would lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling and cursing her body clock, which felt like it was in the wrong time zone. The other night James had found her cleaning the bathroom at two o’clock in the morning and she hadn’t been able to explain what she was doing, other than telling him that she wasn’t tired. But surely other mothers were the same.

  ‘Zero.’

  ‘Wonderful. Have you ever thought of harming yourself or your baby? Three for quite often, two for sometimes, one for hardly ever and zero for never.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Fantastic. Okay, we’re all done.’ The nurse stood up, collected her belongings and smiled at Catriona. ‘You’re doing well. You look after yourself and your little one and just call us if there’s anything you need.’

  Catriona couldn’t close the door behind her fast enough.

  • • •

  Catriona soon found herself in a relentless loop of feeding, cleaning and settling her son that made her long for the days when she finished work at six and didn’t return to the office until nine the next morning. The books she had read spoke about the joy of motherhood, the bond between a mother and child that made the misery of pregnancy and childbirth a distant memory, but when she looked at Sebastian all Catriona thought about was how long it would take before he started crying again. She thought about how her friends had seemed around their newborns – how they gushed about motherhood and their love for their child – and questioned why she didn’t feel the same way. She spent hours staring at Sebastian while he was asleep in his cot, her hands clenched around the bars as if they were on opposite sides of a prison cell, and wondered why looking after him felt like a burden rather than a joy. She would lie in bed after Sebastian’s midnight feed, her chest tight and her pulse racing, filled with dread as she thought about what the next day had in store for her. Catriona wasn’t used to feeling like a failure, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised that having a child may have been a mistake.

  At first, she tried to talk to James about her concerns.

  ‘Nobody tells you how disgusting motherhood is,’ she said while they were sitting on the couch, watching television. Sebastian was asleep upstairs.

  James turned to her with a wry smile on his face. ‘Cat, you can’t say that. Motherhood isn’t disgusting.’

  ‘It is. It’s revolting. I feel like I’m constantly covered in some type of bodily fluid. Yesterday he projectile vomited all through his bed. I thought I needed to call an exorcist.’

  James laughed. ‘You’re exaggerating, it’s not that bad.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say. He never throws up on you, or pees on your hand when you’re changing him. He saves it all up for me. I think he does it on purpose.’

  ‘He’s a baby,’ James said, stroking her back and then taking his hand away. ‘He doesn’t do anything on purpose. They’re just messy little things.’ And then he added the sentence Catriona loathed, ‘You’ll get used to it.’

  She gritted her teeth. ‘Just go and settle Sebastian, would you? I can’t do it again. He’d prefer you to go anyway.’

  James looked at her, confused. ‘What are you talking about? He’s not crying.’

  ‘Oh.’ Catriona shook her head and the noise disappeared. That had been happening to her all day, but when she followed the sound of his cries into the nursery she found he was asleep, or quietly staring up at the ceiling. She must have been more sleep deprived than she realised.

  After that conversation she decided not to talk to James about her worries. It felt to her as if Sebastian was purposely trying to make her look like a bad mother in front of her husband. James could always settle him; he knew which cry meant Sebastian was hungry, which one meant he needed his nappy changed and which one meant he was tired. Catriona thought she knew too, but no matter what she did Sebastian would just keep crying. She would often end up in tears herself, out of sheer frustration from not knowing what he wanted or how she was supposed to keep him
happy. But when James came home Sebastian would stop crying straightaway – and smile at her in a way she could have sworn was malicious.

  As the days wore on, the flowers disappeared from the frangipani tree in the front yard and the leaves started to drop, preparing for the colder months ahead, but Catriona felt no more prepared for motherhood than she had on the day Sebastian was born. She hadn’t ‘got the hang of it’ like everyone had said she would, but she didn’t admit that to anyone. In front of James, her friends and her family she spoke about how much she loved being a mother, conjuring in her mind an idyllic relationship with Sebastian that in no way resembled the one they had, and they believed her.

  Catriona told herself she would be fine if only Sebastian would stop crying – then she could work out what he needed, what she was supposed to do with him. It confused her, all that crying. It clouded her brain.

  One day in April, James startled her when he walked into the nursery. She hadn’t expected him home until six o’clock.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, switching on the light in the gloomy room.

  She looked at him, blinking from confusion and the brightness of the sudden light. ‘Why are you home so early?’

  ‘Early? What do you mean? I told you I’d be home at six.’ He walked over to the cot and picked up Sebastian. Catriona realised the baby was crying.

  ‘He’s saturated,’ James said, his hand on Sebastian’s nappy-clad bottom. ‘When did you last change him?’

  Catriona tried to remember. It hadn’t been that long ago, had it?

  ‘I’m sure it was only a couple of hours ago,’ she said.

  James walked over to the bin in the corner of the nursery and opened the lid. ‘There aren’t any nappies in here. Did you empty the bin?’

  Had she emptied the bin? She couldn’t remember doing it.

  Catriona watched while James changed Sebastian’s nappy. He did it so quickly; where had he learned to do that? Once Sebastian had a clean nappy on and was dressed in a fresh jumpsuit he stopped crying.

  ‘Is he due for a bottle?’ James asked her as he replaced the nappy bags and cream in the pouch under the change table.

  She thought about it. When was his last bottle? How often was he having them now? Did he drink all of the last one?

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking to Sebastian as if he would be able to tell her the answer.

  James picked up Sebastian from the change table and turned to Catriona. ‘What’s going on with you? I come home to find you standing like a statue in the middle of the nursery, letting our son cry his little lungs out. I heard him from the street. You haven’t changed him, you don’t know when he had his last bottle . . . What were you thinking about, just standing there?’

  ‘I thought I saw someone,’ Catriona said, glancing around the room.

  ‘Saw someone? Where?’

  ‘Walking up the stairs, towards the nursery. I could have sworn . . .’

  James stared at her for a few seconds, his brows furrowed. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing’s the matter,’ she snapped at him. ‘You should try staying home with him for once. See how you cope with it.’

  James’s face contorted and Catriona wondered if he wanted to yell at her. But when he spoke his voice was calm. ‘Cat, something’s wrong. I’m worried about you. Do you think you need to talk to someone about this? Postnatal depression is very common—’

  ‘Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m just exhausted?’ She felt her whole body contract with anger. How could he not understand what she was going through? ‘Sebastian cries all the bloody time, and when he’s not crying I’m too scared to go to sleep because I know he’s going to start up again soon. And if he appreciated me being here maybe it wouldn’t worry me so much, but he can’t stand being around me.’

  ‘You know that’s not true.’

  ‘No, I don’t know that’s not true. I know that it is true.’

  James placed Sebastian back in his cot, led Catriona into the hallway and closed Sebastian’s door behind them. He held on to her upper arms with both hands and when he spoke his face was only centimetres from hers. ‘Listen to me, I’ve been reading up on this online and the symptoms match you perfectly. You need to acknowledge this, go see someone about it.’

  His eyes behind his glasses were full of concern.

  ‘So, you went and diagnosed me all by yourself, did you? Did you ever consider just talking to me instead? To ask how I was feeling? I know what postnatal depression is, James, I’m not an idiot.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  James let go of her arms. She crossed them across her chest.

  ‘Do you think that’s what this is?’ he asked.

  ‘Leave me alone.’ Catriona turned her back on him and walked down the stairs. She sat on the couch in the living room and turned the television volume up high, not caring if it made Sebastian cry again. He cried all the time anyway.

  Catriona and James didn’t speak more than a few words to each other that night, but once they were both in bed James turned to her. ‘I know you’re finding motherhood hard and I’m sorry I haven’t been as much help as I should have been. But I need you to talk to me, tell me when you need help.’

  Catriona said nothing and pretended to read her book.

  ‘Please, babe,’ James said. ‘Look at me.’ He gently pushed her book to lay it face down in her lap.

  She huffed her displeasure and turned to him. ‘What?’

  ‘Tell me what you’re going through.’

  When she saw the distress on James’s face, she relented. It wasn’t his fault she was finding everything so difficult. She took a deep breath, preparing to tell him some of the things she had barely admitted to herself. ‘He cries whenever I pick him up, like he doesn’t want to be with me. He’s different towards me than he is to you. You don’t see it. He’ll take a bottle when I give it to him, and he’ll go to sleep when I put him down, but it’s just mechanical and I know he wishes it was you looking after him and not me. It’s like he knows that I don’t really love him. I want to, but I’m not sure I do and that makes me feel terrible. What kind of mother doesn’t love her own child?’

  She had spoken into her lap, but now she looked at James’s face to see his reaction. His expression was impassive so she went on, emboldened by his silence. Her words tumbled over each other in their haste to get out. ‘I want to be a better mother, I really do, but it just doesn’t feel natural to me. I try not to resent him, but I can’t help it. I feel like he’s ruined my life. I was always in control of everything before he came along, now even the smallest thing is too much for me to handle. I feel like I’m in a fog and I don’t know how to get out of it.’

  James took her hand and held it on top of the bed covers. ‘Please will you go see someone? Even if it’s just to talk. I think it will help, and maybe there’s something they can recommend to make things easier for you.’

  ‘Drugs, you mean?’

  ‘So? If they’re going to make you feel better, is that really such a bad thing? I just want my beautiful wife back; I hate seeing you so upset.’

  Catriona glanced at her reflection in the mirrored wardrobe doors facing their bed. Her hair was oily from lack of washing and her skin looked sullen. She started to cry, the sobs tearing at her chest. She couldn’t imagine ever getting past this, but James was right, she had to try. ‘Okay,’ she said as James enveloped her in his arms and let her cry on to his shoulder. ‘I’ll go talk to someone.’

  • • •

  Catriona’s doctor surprised her by how much she knew about postpartum disorders.

  ‘There are three main types,’ she said, holding up her fingers as if Catriona needed help to count. Sebastian was asleep in his pram. Catriona had positioned it so he was facing the wall of the doctor’s office rather than her. ‘About eighty per cent of women experience a mild form of depression after they have a baby. It’s generally referred to as the b
aby blues.’

  ‘I’ve heard of that.’

  ‘Yes, it’s very common. And completely understandable. Your poor body has been flooded with hormones for nine months only to go through the massive trauma of childbirth, so of course it makes you feel off balance.’

  Catriona stared at the back of Sebastian’s pram, hoping their voices wouldn’t wake him. She didn’t want to have to console him in front of the doctor who would surely notice everything she was doing wrong.

  She lowered her voice. ‘So, does it just go away on its own, then?’

  ‘The baby blues usually pass in a week or so,’ the doctor said, turning in her chair to look at Catriona face on. ‘But from what you’ve told me, I don’t think that’s what we’re dealing with here.’

  Catriona squirmed in her seat, uncomfortable with the way she was being scrutinised. She wished she hadn’t mentioned anything to James. It was no-one’s business but her own. The last thing she needed was to have the doctor judge her. But Catriona had already admitted she was having trouble sleeping and bonding with Sebastian, so she had to say something.

  ‘My husband thinks I have postnatal depression,’ she said.

  The doctor nodded, tapping a pen against the wooden desk. ‘I’m wondering that too. It’s more common than you probably think; it affects around one in seven new mums. Have you had a visit from a child-health nurse yet?’

  ‘A few weeks ago.’

  ‘And did she conduct a test called the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale with you?’

  ‘I don’t know what it was called. She asked me questions about how happy I was, whether I was sleeping, things like that.’

  ‘Did you answer it honestly?’

  Catriona hesitated, wondering whether she should lie. The doctor was watching her, waiting for her response.

  ‘No,’ she said in a small voice.

  The doctor didn’t seemed surprised by Catriona’s admission. She turned to her computer and tapped at the keyboard.

  ‘Do you mind if I go through it again with you?’ she asked.

  Catriona answered the test with the responses she thought the doctor would expect. She admitted to being anxious and worried for no good reason, and to not coping as well as she used to, but she lied about the extent of it. When asked if she ever thought about harming herself or Sebastian, she said no and tried hard to make it convincing.