Charlotte’s cries wake me from a deep slumber in the middle of the night. Does this baby ever freakin’ sleep? I glance resentfully at John snoring next to me. And does he ever get up with her?
I stumble into Charlotte’s room. “What’s the problem, girlfriend?” I ask her. “This is the third time you’ve been up.” Rachel assured me the baby slept through the night (one of my first questions for her), but Charlotte has been up every few hours. It was as if she knew there was an imposter in her house. I pull her out of her crib, unsure of what to do next. When Rachel had each of her kids, I was always the first to send the latest in baby couture and a few blinged-out pacifiers. But I was so caught up in my own life that I was never around to actually help her with the everyday things. And I had a strict policy about not babysitting until they were potty trained. As I put my nose up to Charlotte’s diaper to see if she needed a change, I couldn’t help but think karma is a bitch.
I try bouncing her up and down against my chest, something I could swear I’d seen Rachel do. Or maybe it was Jessica Alba. Either way, it seems to work. Charlotte calms down quickly and eventually falls asleep in my arms. I lean in and inhale her sweet baby smell. Luckily Audrey and Sophie didn’t question me when I asked them to help me give her a bath earlier. At dinner, I told them I wanted to have some bonding time and they reluctantly agreed. As Audrey rubbed the shampoo into Charlotte’s scalp and Sophie turned on the bubble machine, I felt there was something missing. I’d imagined them playing with their baby sister, but instead they bathed her silently, Sophie reaching back to check her phone every few minutes and Audrey braiding the same section of her own hair over and over again—something I’d have to ask Rachel about later. Although I still think they were happier to be in that bathroom than at the dining room table. Never much of a cook, I prepared a meal that was almost inedible. I could barely choke it down. Rachel always made it look so easy whenever I joined them for dinner. For a long time, I’d come every Sunday night without fail, but after I won the Emmy last year and things got busier at work, I hadn’t made it as often. I’d started having Destiny call to cancel because I couldn’t handle Rachel’s disappointed tone; she didn’t understand why I couldn’t leave work on a Sunday night. I think of her having to go to work today, pretending to be me. Maybe she’ll finally get it.
I was terrified to go to bed with John tonight. I couldn’t remember being that scared since I had to interview Charlie Sheen during his warlock phase. What if he wanted to have sex? Rachel assured me there was no way in hell that he’d want to kiss me, let alone have sex with me. But she quickly added that if for some odd reason he did try, to tell him that I had my period. I smile as I remember back in college when he’d cover his ears like a little kid any time Rachel or I would even say the word cramps. Some things never change.
After the girls went to bed, I’d run up the stairs and locked myself in the bathroom. When I came out, John was already asleep or pretending to be. Either way, I was relieved. It gave me a chance to study the document from Rachel. I crawled into bed and pulled out my phone, scanning through the list of instructions she’d emailed, the subject line reading “How to be me.” She’d included everything, down to when trash day was. As I read page after page, I was amazed at the sheer number of things Rachel is responsible for. You can do this, I told myself.
? ? ?
The alarm went off like a fire alarm a few hours later and I hauled myself out of bed. How does Rachel have the energy to get up so early after a sleepless night? I splashed cold water on my face, threw on a T-shirt and jeans, and scrolled through Rachel’s checklist: wake up the girls, prepare Charlotte’s bottle, smile if she shits.
“Audrey, get up!” I push her motionless body. “You’re going to be late for school.”
“Get out of my room!” she yells with a fierceness that startles me.
Is this how she treats Rachel? My protective instinct takes over. “Hey! You do not talk to your mother like that. Get your ass up right now, young lady!”
The word ass seems to snap her to attention. “Geez, stop freaking out. You’re such a spaz!” But at least she gets out of bed and heads into the bathroom. Mission accomplished. Now I just have to figure out what to put in Sophie’s lunch. But before I can, I hear Charlotte’s cries.
“Rachel!” John calls out from the bedroom. “The baby’s crying!”
Duh.