3

I uncoiled the mile of fabric cocooning Brighid. Lyd took her from me  immediately, as was usually the case with my friends. I sat my phone down on top of the Moby mound. Lyd opened the sliding glass door leading to her balcony. Out I went, sucking down half of my wine as I passed through the doorway.

Lyd gave me a look, snorted delightfully and returned back inside. When she reemerged, with her came a newly opened bottle of red which she placed purposefully close to me. Where her kids were I had no clue and didn't really want to know. Silence flowed throughout her house and out onto the balcony.

Far below us, down the crazy steep and twisty, driveway cars sped past. Lyd dropped into a chair balancing Brighid on her lap. Brighid smiled a smile so big, so precious, so perfect that I couldn't keep looking at her. It hurt. At one time, each of my babies had melted my heart with fat, chunky toothless smiles.

"What kind of mother walks away from her kids, Lyd? What kind? I just can't take it anymore. All they do is fight and argue and do EXACTLY the opposite of what I need them to do."

By this time tears had started falling. Brighid smiled. I cried. Lyd poured wine and listened, as all great friends will do.

"They hate me," I swore to her.

"They don't hate you," she promised. "Not all the time anyway. Not from 9 p.m. to 7 a.m. when the little effers are nestled all snug in their beds."

I had to laugh.

"I love them. I do. But they're killing me. I can't figure out how to deal with it."

"You'll figure it out. And when you do, please share with the rest of us, okay?"

I downed the rest of my vino and re wrapped Brighid.

"You sure I can't take you home?" she asked.

"Nah," I told her over the noise of a helicopter flying low over her house.

I picked up my phone to shove it back down into my bra. I had 12 missed calls! WTF?! They were all from home. I tried to call but there was no answer. I meant to call them. I'm a terrible, horrible mother. I suck. I worse than suck, I uber suck.

"Crap! Crap! Crap! Yes, drive me home," I ordered unwrapping the baby as I went. 

I jerked open the rear door of Lyd's station wagon and placed Brigid, 4 months, into the most gigantic car seat on the planet.

"Seriously, that thing's like a big BarcaLounger. Who sits in this thing?"

"Me. There's a mini-fridge on the side where I keep my beer."

I finished snapping the tiny baby into the illegal, front-facing car seat. We took a left out of her driveway and a quick right onto my street. We came to a screeching halt due to police presence and yellow caution tape. My house was at the bottom of the road.

"Drop me off and take the baby back to your house before the fuzz sees the damn, huge-ass front facing car seat," I said.

An officer tried to stop me as I ducked, shaking, under the caution tape.

"Where do you think you're going, ma'am?"

When did I become a ma'am?

"My home. My children are down there," I said and continued.

"Ma'am, there's a situation down there-"

"I have to go, officer," I responded quietly and ran like the mad woman I had become all the way to our mailbox, where I stopped. The helicopter we had heard at Lyd's was parked, blades churning, in the middle of the intersection. It was a LifeForce helicopter. The hospital helicopter.

Oh, mother.

I had stopped directly in front of the mailbox to stare into the intersection.

"Hey, Mama," said a voice slightly above my head.

Joe, the 4 year old, stood buck naked atop the big, brick mailbox. I take that back. He had on a pilot's hat. It fit him perfectly.

Two paramedics rolled a stretcher into view.