WORLD’S MOST EXHAUSTED FATHER
Everyone laughed.
Callum pulled it over his head and posed with both hands beneath my stomach.
“I think I’m the person who will be exhausted,” I said from my chair.
He pointed toward himself dramatically.
“Diapers. Bottles. Laundry. Night feedings. I have all of it.”
Dean raised his drink.
“Remember this speech when the babies arrive.”
I took a photograph.
“I am saving it.”
Callum leaned down and kissed my forehead.
“Save it. I’ll prove every word.”
Then Maisie, Miles, and Mara arrived.
The C-section left me feeling as though every part of my body had been pulled apart and sewn together too tightly.
Sitting upright hurt.
Laughing hurt.
Coughing felt impossible.
Even turning in bed required careful planning.
Our first night home, all three babies began crying within minutes of one another.
Maisie’s bassinet stood closest to me.
I reached toward her and gasped as pain tore across my abdomen.
“Callum, can you bring her to me?”
He opened one eye.
“I just fell asleep.”
“I can’t lift her from here.”
He sighed.
Then he got out of bed, carried Maisie over, and placed her in my arms.
“Thank you.”
Callum returned immediately to his pillow.
“Miles needs a bottle,” I whispered.
“You are already awake.”
I stared at him.
“So are you.”
“I have work tomorrow.”
I looked at the three bassinets beside our bed.
“And I have three babies who cannot survive without us.”
He turned toward the wall.
On the third night, Callum entered the bedroom carrying his pillow and telephone charger.
Mara was against my shoulder.
Milk ran down Miles’s chin.
Maisie was crying again.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m moving into the spare room.”
“For tonight?”
“Until they begin sleeping through the night.”
“They are newborns.”
“I need eight hours if I’m expected to function at work.”
“I need more than forty minutes if I’m expected to function here.”
“You don’t attend meetings.”
I looked at him.
“No. I only keep three human beings alive.”
Callum rubbed his face.
“Why do you always make me feel guilty?”
“I thought guilt usually came after doing something wrong.”
His mouth tightened.
“I’m not arguing about this.”
He left.
During the day, Callum counted every small task he completed.
“I changed two diapers,” he announced one afternoon.
I looked at the care chart taped beside the refrigerator.
“There have been twenty-three.”
“You do not need to keep score.”
“I began writing everything down because I no longer remember what hour it is.”
“You always make it sound like I do nothing.”
I stood at the sink washing bottles while rocking Miles’s carrier with one foot.
“You held Mara for six minutes.”
“I work all day.”
“So do I.”
“You are at home.”
My hands stopped in the soapy water.
“So are the babies.”
Callum walked away.
Despite everything, I covered for him.
When his mother called and asked whether he was helping, I glanced toward the closed spare-room door.
“He is tired from work,” I said.
“Does he handle the overnight feedings?”
“He is trying.”
“Don’t overwhelm him,” she warned. “Men often become nervous around newborns. Perhaps he is afraid he will drop one.”
I nearly told her that women did not leave the hospital carrying secret instructions inside their bodies.
We were frightened too.
We simply were not allowed to leave.
Callum stepped into the hallway after I ended the call.
He reached for the spare-room door.
“Try to keep them quiet tonight. I have an early conference call.”
I stared at him.
“Did you hear yourself?”
“What?”
“I had surgery six weeks ago. I feed three babies throughout the night, and you are asking me to keep them quiet for you.”
“I cannot lose my job.”
“And I cannot collapse.”
“You will be fine.”
He closed the door.
That night, Mara would not settle unless I held her upright.
Miles needed another bottle before I finished feeding Maisie.
My glass of water sat only three feet away, but I could not reach it without waking two babies.
I called Callum.
His telephone buzzed through the wall.
Then the call was declined.
I stared at the screen.
The three babies breathed and whimpered around me.
“All right,” I whispered.
“I heard you.”
The next morning, I began documenting everything.
Every feeding.
Every diaper.
Every pumping session.
Every bottle washed.
Every load of laundry.
Every medication I took.
Every minute of sleep.
One week later, Callum entered the kitchen wearing sunglasses on top of his head.
He placed a printed reservation on the counter.
“I booked a trip to the fictional resort town of Solara Bay.”
I examined the paper.
“For us?”
“For me.”
I waited for him to smile.
He did not.
“You booked yourself a vacation?”
“I need to recover.”
“From what?”
“Work. The crying. This house.”
He gestured toward the nursery.
“I have not slept longer than forty minutes at a time in six weeks.”
“That is different.”
“Why?”
“Because this is what you wanted, Alina.”
“I wanted children.”
I looked directly at him.
“I did not want to become a single mother while married.”
