With one last glance and one last, lingering kiss, I head out of the room, out of her apartment, and out of her life.
Today, I become Blake Crisp.
Chapter One – Sleepless Nights
Carly
Present Day
My alarm goes off at six o’clock like clockwork every morning. That stupid little piece of annoying electronics has the worst timing ever! It wasn’t that long ago that I was actually able to fall sleep. Whoever said that babies sleep better after a year old, clearly didn’t know anything.
I’d been delusional about the fact that babies monopolize so much of your time, so much of your sanity. So much of your soul. I haven’t taken a full, relaxing shower in forever. Days where I’m able to both brush my hair and put on make-up are few and far between. Sometimes I don’t eat a single bite until midmorning when I finally sneak down to the vending machine and buy a two dollar Hostess Ho Ho from the lower level employee break room at work. I’ve eaten more cereal dinners than I care to admit.
But I wouldn’t trade any of this for the world.
My sole priority is my fourteen-month-old daughter, Natalia. She is the most beautiful baby girl in the entire world. Sure, I might be a tad bias, but I honestly believe that with her black, curly hair, her beautiful green eyes the color of dewed morning grass, and her chubby little cheeks, she rivals most Gerber babies in those baby food commercials.
She’s also a daily reminder of that night. That one amazing night.
I’m just stepping inside the shower stall when I hear that familiar high-pitched war cry. My daughter has the best set of lungs I’ve ever heard. She can wake a hibernating bear at two hundred yards.
I know that my time is very limited now so I rush through the remains of my shower, remembering that I didn’t have time to wash my hair yesterday. The wail is getting increasingly louder by the second, so I forego shaving my legs. Again.
I always knew that babies were a lot of work. Add in the fact that I’m a single parent of a baby girl who developed reflux and colic at a very young age, and you have the recipe for sleepless nights and high anxiety. Thank God for Mom.
My mother is a saint. A Godsend. She’s the only person who kept me going when my body was ready to give out and my mind completely gone. Mom lives a few miles away from my two-bedroom apartment and spends her days here, watching her only granddaughter. Mom is a novelist. Romance? Nope. Mom writes crime novels, and makes a pretty good living at it. She writes in the evenings and a bit at night, only able to get in a few hours of work in between tending to a high maintenance baby. But, she doesn’t charge me to babysit, and for a single mom, that’s a huge plus.
My mom is one of the most beautiful women in the entire world; both inside and out. Again, I might be slightly prejudice, but I speak the truth. She raised me entirely on her own from the time I was five years old. Getting me out of a sticky home life was top priority. My father wasn’t around as often as most fathers. His job in sales wasn’t nine to five and pulled him away from the house more often than not. But I do remember that when he was there, he doted upon me like any proud father. I was the apple of his eye. His pride and joy.
Until it all fell apart.
Making sure the shampoo is completely out of my hair, I grab the soap and make sure to clean all the necessary areas. God, what I wouldn’t give to shave my legs uninterrupted–both legs complete at the same time. Just once.
With a towel wrapped firmly around my midsection, I step out of the en suite bathroom and head across the hall. Natalia’s wails are urgent now, my cue that my chance at peace and quiet has come and gone. I step inside the pink room with morning sunlight filtering through the ivory curtains and head straight for the crib. My daughter is standing against the railing, tears streaming down her face, as she waits for me to pick her up. This little sweet pea is definitely not a morning person.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I coo as I pick the half-pint up and cuddle her into my chest.
Natalia grabs for the towel, her big toothy grin firmly in place. A rare morning smile. I’ll take it!
After a quick diaper change, we head back into my bedroom where I find the playpen ready in the corner. It’s part of our morning routine that Natalia plays with a few toys while I get ready for work. The singing bunny and the farm animals that moo, neigh, cluck, and oink will hold her attention for about five point six seconds. As I do every morning, I have to make this quick.
Grabbing the first black pencil skirt I find in my closet and a cream colored button-up satin shirt, I head towards my dresser to find a pair of nylons. It takes me three pairs before I find a pair without a run from the ankle clear up to the knee. I dress in record time, almost missing one of the tiny pearl buttons under my breasts. I complete the outfit by grabbing my favorite pair of black Stuart Weitzman pumps with the black satin bow on the toe, a gift from my uncle.