Mother's Milk Read Free

silverware.’
    Barrett repositioned her chair so she could watch her mom as she fussed in the kitchen. She gently rocked and let herself enjoy the moments of peaceful nursing, a blissful island in the too-fast chaos of her life. Since returning to work two months back it had felt as though she was on some hellish treadmill and that no matter how fast she ran, she was constantly falling behind. The fact that Max was born a month premature, her water breaking in the middle of a case conference she was chairing at Croton Forensic Hospital, was almost a symbol of how everything happened just too fast.
    She rocked and marveled at the efficiency of her mother in the kitchen, like a dancer, trained by years of raising two children and dealing nightly with a bar-room full of thirsty patrons. At nearly fifty, Ruth looked like a woman in her thirties, even though Barrett knew her dark auburn hair now came from a bottle. ‘So what have you and Max been up to?’ she asked.
    Ruth leveled her gaze at her daughter. ‘Well, considering I didn’t get off work till four A.M. , we took a nap until ten. I thought this afternoon we could take a walk through the park and do a bit of shopping. You in the mood for a pork roast? Or how about a spiral ham, sweet potatoes, and collard greens with bacon?’
    â€˜You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? Fried chicken last night, you’ve used my bread-maker more in the past few months than—’
    â€˜Dear, it was still in the box, as was this gorgeous mixer. Which, if you’re wondering what to get me for my birthday …’
    â€˜Duly noted,’ Barrett said.
    â€˜You need to eat,’ Ruth said, ‘if not for yourself, for my little prince.’
    â€˜So that’s what this is all about, fatten me up for Max.’
    â€˜Do you know how many calories you lose through breast milk? And you were saying you were worrying that you didn’t have enough.’
    â€˜Point taken, but I’m not sure the Paula Dean diet is the way to go.’
    â€˜You watch what you say about Paula. I love her, in fact this banana-bread recipe is off her website.’
    â€˜The woman would deep-fry water,’ Barrett said, ‘it can’t be good for you.’
    â€˜Moderation,’ Ruth shot back, ‘all things in moderation,’ and then, lowering her voice, ‘Not that you’d know a thing about that.’
    â€˜I heard that.’
    â€˜Good.’
    â€˜Mom, please don’t start.’
    â€˜I didn’t say a word … but if I did it would be to say that you’re working too many hours and too many days, and with a new baby and no husband you’re not going to be able to keep this up. Trust me, I know.’
    Barrett shook her head, as she looked at Max, who seemed to have had his fill. She reached for one of the many blue terry-cloth nappies Ruth had whipped up out of old towels and laid it over her shoulder. She draped him over it, and ran her hand over his soft smooth back, rubbing, patting, and waiting for her reward of a juicy belch. ‘We do what we have to do. And what I have to do is work and make money to keep a roof over our heads. And don’t tell me you don’t know what that’s like.’
    â€˜Of course I know what that’s like,’ Ruth said, pulling a brown-paper bag from out of a drawer. ‘I just didn’t want you to repeat my mistakes.’
    Barrett looked at the milky wet spot on the nappy and gave Max an extra few pats to see if anything more needed to come up. A random thought zipped through her head.
Mission accomplished.
She’d made it home, nursed; a quick glance at the clock showed she’d probably just make it back in time. ‘Mom,’ Barrett said, ‘I don’t think you really made mistakes. You married too young because you got pregnant and that’s what girls in Williamson, Georgia, were supposed to do. You had no choice, and