The Mad Wife

by Meagan Church

could spend days on the farm by myself, wandering from house to barn to tree, lingering in the meadow, sitting in only the company of whatever cat followed along with me. I looked forward to the summer days, when school was out and I didn’t have to be in a room with rules and kids my age. I didn’t need to be needed like others did.

Rocking the pink bundle alone in the nursery, I began to wonder if we all knew her. Maybe she had a cleaning schedule taped to her fridge. Maybe she also got tired of ironing underwear. Maybe she woke in the night and sat in the shadows, wondering if dawn would break like it did each morning. Or if, just one time, the moon would blanket the sun and the night creatures would bask in the continuing darkness. Or maybe that was just me.

They may see certain sides of pregnancy and birth, but they don’t experience it in a way that they know what it’s really like.

Mama cared most about the security Henry could provide. But I think Daddy would’ve cared more about how he loved me.