She's Out of Control (18 page)

Once at my house, my gorgeous little bungalow now sporting holes and an angry roommate, I wonder how I'm going to get Miles out of his car seat without waking him up. It isn't going to work. In the driveway, I'm so close to the house. It's just right there. And I'm right here, but how do I get there? I scratch my head. I'm a smart girl, but this one eludes me. I have to make a choice. Do I wake a sleeping baby? Or do I dare leave him for a minute? Which is really no choice, because it's um . . . a baby.

I dial Kay on my cell phone, and pray she's home playing Bob Vila. After about twenty rings, she answers the phone. “What? Did you know you left the dog in the house? Luckily, it was your Steve Maddens he chomped. Apparently, he has your taste, because my L.L. Bean loafers are perfectly intact.”

“I came home to get Rhett. I've got baby Miles asleep in the car. Can you bring him out?”

“You bet I can bring him out.” Soon Kay appears in the doorway, holding Rhett by the collar and dragging him to the car, until he sees me. Then he bounds like the sweet puppy I know. “You are planning to take that dog to obedience school, aren't you?”

“Of course I am, but I didn't know I had a dog until a few weeks ago, and I haven't exactly been here to get him going on it.” Rhett jumps into the car, and it dawns on me again that he's a big ol' dog, and that Miles is asleep. I yank him back by his collar. “No, boy. No!” But it's too late. Rhett wipes a wet sloppy tongue across Miles's face. The baby's expression wrinkles up, but he stays asleep. Apparently, Miles has a bit of food on his face, because Rhett takes another swipe.
Yum.

Kay is standing with arms crossed, judging my lack of parenting skills. For both the dog and the baby. “No, Rhett. No.” I pull him into the front seat and take a baby wipe to Miles's face. Mrs. Browning would freak.

“Brea is letting you watch her baby?” Kay finally asks.

“Why does everyone assume I'm such an idiot? Weren't you in church? Brea is having contractions.”

She shakes her head. “I left early. I had to get the water turned off.”

“So we have no water?”

“Just for the day.”

“It's Sunday. The day of rest and all that.”

“Tell that to your dog. His bladder never seems to take a rest, and I'm nearly out of Pine-Sol. I still have yet to figure out how that is your dog. Seeings as how you have yet to take care of it.” Kay glares at me in disgust. “Tell Seth to give you jewelry next time. A living thing is not your strong suit.”

And a personality isn't yours
, I think before apologizing silently, but sheesh, what is it? Pick on Ashley day? “I'll be at Brea's if you need me.”

“Her pugs are going to be scared to death of your monster.”

“I doubt that. Brea's pugs tend to think they're mastiffs.”

“I'll be praying for Brea,” Kay finally says, “and for baby Miles, too.”

I drive around the city, hoping that Miles will eventually wake, but he's snugger than a prince in happily-ever-after. Rhett starts to get antsy and starts barking, which wakes Miles up in a frantic state of confusion. I stop the car, and let him know it's me, Auntie Ashley, and the furry snout in his face is friendly. But he's scared to death and screaming appropriately.

I quickly get back into the car and drive to Brea's. I get Miles out of the car, and Rhett bounds out with glee, going straight for the pugs' crates and barking. The phone is ringing in the house, and Miles is still screaming. I take him in my arms and race to the kitchen. “Hello, Wright residence.”

“Who is this, Ashley? What's wrong with Miles?” Mrs. Browning asks.

“He just woke up.” I want to tell her the phone woke him, but I decide lying is not something I want to add to my résumé today.

“John asked me to call. They've stopped the contractions for now with medications.”

Oh, praise God.

“But she's got to be on complete bed rest for now. And they're keeping her here overnight for observation.”

“Well, that's good though, right?”

She gasps like I shouldn't be trusted with a goldfish, much less her grandchild or pertinent information on Brea. “We'll be home in the morning.”

My eyes go wide. “The morning?”
But work? Rhett? Miles?
“Brea told me you've just gotten back from around the world again. Surely, that job can give you a day of your own life.”

Well, yeah, but a baby overnight is not exactly my own life. Now I really am afraid that Brea trusted me with Miles. Maybe everyone's fears are well-deserved, because the idea of watching him for a long period kind of scares me.

“Ashley, neither John or I want to leave Brea. She's very anxious, and we're trying to keep her calm.”

Then please leave and give her a break
. “Miles is anxious too.” Not to mention my own fears. A baby, three dogs, and me. Four living things depending upon me, and they don't really care if Stuart Weitzman or Blahniks are a better heel choice. They actually want to eat, and do other things.
Oh Lord, give me strength.

16

E
xhausted.
Not tired, like when I've watched one too many movies on Saturday night, not even like jet lag from an international trip. I'm dead tired. Bone weary, to the point I've become aware of my bones and they're shouting at me like a bad Halloween nightmare. The constant juggling of keeping Lucy and Ricky away from Rhett, and Rhett away from Miles, and Miles away from Lucy and Ricky and their snubbed-snout doggie colds has given new meaning to the word
multitasking.

As if the social circle time management isn't enough, all of these cohabitating beings want food incessantly. Food and attention, and—Ack! Just shoot me now. I cannot believe I wanted to be a mother. Did I actually utter those words? Because I'm so thinking this life is not for me, and that I'm better off as a patent attorney. If Kevin could see me now, I'm sure his fantasies about who I am would dwindle away along with his belief that I could pass the Mensa test.

I didn't realize all those nesting instincts essentially mean dropping baby worms into a gaping mouth. There's a disgusting side of mothering that no one tells you about. And if you had energy to accomplish these foul missions, that might be one thing, but you're already dead-on-your-feet because you're running a never-ending marathon, and I'm not talking about the twenty-six-mile marathon that has an actual finish line. The idea that Brea actually exercises is hilarious. What the heck is this, if not Pilates, yoga, and aerobics wrapped into one constant job?

Miles finally falls asleep, and I put Rhett outside and the pugs in their crates for the night. I fall onto the couch like I'm recovering from a battle. The minute my face hits the cushion, my cell phone rings.

“Go away,” I groan. But it keeps ringing. The voice mail beep comes on, but the phone just starts ringing again. “Hello.”

“Ashley, it's Seth.”

“Seth.” Just the sound of his voice makes me start to cry and revisit the baby issue. But I'm too tired to think straight. “Where are you?”

“I'm home, Ashley.”

“You're home? Palo Alto home?”

“I'm here, Ash. I told you I wouldn't go without saying good-bye. I'm back for our official good-bye, which I hope won't really be a good-bye. Have you thought about talking to my boss about a job?”

“I don't think . . .”

“I've been flying for twenty-one hours straight. I need to sleep, Ash, but I didn't want you to go anywhere without knowing I'm here. You're not taking off to Taiwan tomorrow, right?”

“No, I'm at Brea's. She's having early labor problems, so I'm staying with Miles. They've stabilized her, but she's going to be on bed-rest from here on out.”

“Ash, I'm so sorry. I'll be praying.” He pauses for a moment. “Can I come see you?'

I don't want to see him. That's the first thought that floats into my wee mind, and there's a brief celebration as I contemplate that perhaps I've moved on. “Now you want to come over? I thought you were exhausted.”

“I am. But . . . I just need to see you, Ash.”

There's a hint of desperation in his voice, and naturally it's the
perspective effect
taking place. I learned in art class that as something gets farther away, it appears smaller to the human eye. As I walk away from Seth (or in this case, he flies away from me) his perspective changes. Suddenly he craves me in close proximity because he's worried he's made a terrible mistake, that his viewpoint was off. He needs to get closer to determine that his perspective was right. I'm not in the mood to give him the opportunity.

I swallow hard. “Not now. The baby's sleeping, and I'm exhausted.”

Perspective shrinking (think helium balloon released into the sky). “Please, Ash. I need to see you.”

This is the first time I can ever remember Seth doing something spontaneous. I don't have my makeup bag, or clean clothes, but I figure I look like what a housewife is supposed to look like—weary. I run to the mirror and pinch my cheeks Scarlett-style, but it's of little use. I still look like Melanie Wilkes on a bad hair day. “Fine, but just for a minute. I need to get to sleep.” I hang up, thoroughly ticked that I didn't hold my ground.

Rhett starts to bark uproariously. “Shh. Shh. Rhett, you'll wake the baby.”

But it's too late, Miles is screaming like a rock star in two seconds flat. I run upstairs, and when he sees I'm not his mommy, he starts to really wail.

“Miles, it's Auntie Ashley.” I pick him up and bring him to my chest, and bounce around the room with him. “It's okay, Miles.” I soothe him nervously. “Auntie is here. Auntie is here.”

Miles is screaming himself into a fit, and soon, he's sick all down my front. So now, I have bedhead, no makeup, and I smell like baby vomit. My dreams of romantic encounters are quickly dashed. Okay, maybe not a romantic encounter, but at least a little remorse on Seth's part. I am human, after all, and I would like to see him wallow a bit.

At least Miles didn't mess up his sheets. But then I look and see. His sheets are messed up. The poor little guy is sick.

“Oh, Miles, baby!” I run him a bath, and try to figure out how I'm going to get him into it when I decide it's just easier to get in with him. I strip down to my undies and step into the tub, using my shins to keep him upright. I take some baby shampoo to his body, and he's still whimpering, but the warm water calms us both. His face screws up into a bevy of wrinkles, not understanding why he's sick, and why I'm doing this to him.

When I step out of the bath, and towel us off, I notice there's a baby tub sitting on the sink. “So that's how you do this, huh?”

Miles stares at me, clueless imbecile that I am. I just get him dressed in a fuzzy blue sleeper when I hear the doorbell ring. I have no pants on, and there's still baby barf on the sheets.

“Just a minute!” I yell. I throw my church skirt back on, find a clean T-shirt of John's, and lift Miles over my shoulder. “You poor baby,” I say again. As we're heading downstairs, I brush his full, auburn locks, and he looks like the most respectable little man in his footsie pajamas, with his hair so perfect and parted. I arrive at the door, and Seth is standing there. He's wrapped in a scarlet-and-gold scarf, and the blue of his eyes looks right inside me. Those eyes render me . . . well, they used to render me powerless. At the moment, they look kinda freaky.

“For you, mademoiselle.” Seth takes the scarf off and wraps it around Miles and me. Then he comes toward us both and plants a kiss on my lips. Miles is looking up at me questioningly.

“This is Seth,” I explain to the baby. “Miles is sick,” I say to Seth. “I need to finish cleaning up his crib, and I don't want to leave him in case he gets sick again.”

“So what you're saying is I'm competing with a man who has a full head of hair.”

“You're not competing with anyone, Seth. You've made your choice.”
Ooh, sounding a little vicious here.

His smile disintegrates. “Please come to India with me.”

“Don't you say hello first?” I put a fist on my hip. “Why do you have to do this, Seth? What about India is so fascinating?”
Besides seeing if I'll follow you like a lost puppy?

“I just feel the calling to do it. I can't explain it. I just know I'm supposed to be there. When the Arizona job opened up, I hemmed and hawed, but this was different. I knew immediately.”

“I just started this job, Seth. I feel like it's important that I'm there, and in general proximity to the mall. And restaurants, and church, and my life as I know it.” I feel a little mercy for him here and exhale my angst. “Look, Seth, Hans has really come to trust me. And if I abandon him now, he's going to think all Christians just serve their own purposes. Contrary to what you think, I appreciate that your ministry and life is in India. But mine is here, Seth.”

“It's only for three months. You can come back to Hans.”

“To start. It's only for three months to start. I've seen what these companies do to get you settled in other countries. You live like a king on nothing, and your salary comes back here tax free, while you live the luxury lifestyle gratis. You'll get used to it, and you probably won't ever come back.”

“Are you worried about being somewhere with me?”

“I'm worried about being anywhere without good espresso and shopping malls. You can't change who you fundamentally are unless God allows for it.” I sweep my hand in front of me. “Look around you, Seth. This is a mission field, ripe for the picking and the workers are few. I'm called to be here.”

He holds up the red scarf. “They have shopping malls in India, and they're outdoors like Stanford. Better than Ann Taylor. Cheaper, more feminine.” He wiggles his eyebrow. “And you could buy all the scarves you wanted. I'd love to see you in them.”