1:47. The microwave timer blinked. Has it really been only 13 seconds? I never thought I was the type to stare at a microwave, but hunger does strange things. Snickers was right—you’re not you when you’re hungry.
I was reheating leftover garlic and spinach fettuccine with meatballs, a late-night leftover meal from Thursday. My head was spinning from hunger, probably because of my breastfeeding-induced caloric deficit.
Beep, beep, beep. Finally, food! I sat at the kitchen island, ready to devour the pasta. It wasn’t about savoring flavors but simply getting food in my belly before the baby realized I wasn’t beside him.
Two bites in, Andrew started wailing. Called it.
Calmly, I set my fork down, listening. Maybe Matthew could calm him down? Sometimes he could. But Andrew’s cries, paired with Matthew’s shushing, only grew louder.
At almost 9 months, I knew Andrew’s cries well. This was the unmistakable “I need my mommy” cry. My shoulders dropped in resignation. All I’m asking is five minutes to eat.
Partly hopeless, partly exasperated, and mostly hungry, I yelled, “Bring him to me!”
I sat still and waited for my boys to come out of the bedroom, expecting the familiar sight of Matthew’s sheepish look as if saying, “Sorry, I tried!” and Andrew’s confused, half-asleep “Where are we, folks?” But instead, the cries in the bedroom just got louder.
Matthew hadn’t heard me. Andrew’s cries drowned out my yell. My poor husband, trying his best, was overwhelmed.
I walked into our bedroom, took our bawling monster from Matthew, and like magic, Andrew calmed in my arms like a tamed angel. Strong maternal attachment was something to behold.
Cradling Andrew, I sat on the chair we’d placed for these moments, rubbing his back. We basked in the sudden silence, only broken by Andrew’s leftover sobs. In the dark, I looked at Matthew, “I just need to eat,” I whispered, almost breaking.
For a moment, I felt sorry for myself. But as I caressed my babe, self-pity transformed into self-gift.
Love.
This was deep, unconditional love. The sacrificial love C.S. Lewis called agape. Giving of oneself even when it hurts.
I set Andrew on the bed and laid next to him to breastfeed. “Can I get you anything?” Matthew whispered, feeling sorry for me. “Do you want me to bring your pasta in here so you can finish it?”
I loved that pasta and home-cooked food, but I despised food smells lingering in the bedroom. Pungent garlic in the air while trying to sleep always bothered me. If only savory food smelled like your local fudgery!
It’s garlic pasta, my love. My dealio with bedroom food smells was too strong. “No.”
“What about snacks? Those sweet potato balls you made?” Matthew offered.
“Nope, I’m okay. I’ll just wait for him to fall back asleep.” I replied, but I knew the truth. Andrew would wake as soon as he realized I wasn’t next to him. It wasn’t happening, but I clung to the slim possibility.
But then…oh wait…
Grrrrrr. My stomach growled.
I guess…I’m having meatballs in bed.
