I never thought that taking a break to tend to a wailing infant on a chilly morning would bring me to the building’s top level, where I worked for minimum money cleaning toilets. Things took a surprising turn and altered my life in ways I never anticipated when I found out whose child I had saved.
I never thought my life would turn out that way.
It’s been four months since I gave birth to my son. His father, who was never able to hold him, is honored by his name. When I was five months pregnant with our child, my husband passed away from cancer. His biggest dream had been to become a father.
I sobbed excessively when the doctor said, “It’s a boy,” knowing that it was everything my husband had hoped for. All I want is for him to be there to embrace his young son.
Being a new mother is already very demanding. The experience of becoming a new mother without a partner, without money, and while working is like climbing a precipice in the dark.
My life has become a routine of midnight feedings, exploding diapers, expressing breast milk, crying (my and his), and getting by on three hours of sleep.
I worked part-time as a housekeeper in a large downtown financial firm to help keep us afloat. Early mornings, four hours a day, before anyone arrived at the office. Scrubbing floors, picking up trash, and cleaning desks were all exhausting tasks, but the pay was barely enough to cover diapers and the rent on a small apartment. Ruth, my mother-in-law, looked after the infant during those hours. Without her constant presence, I would have perished. She was the mother of my late spouse.
I was heading home one morning after my shift ended in that hazy state that comes after a restless night. The city felt half-asleep, and the sun hadn’t risen yet. Getting home to nurse my son was all I could think about. I could already feel my breasts hurting, and I knew he would soon be hungry.
I heard it at that point.
A scream. Not a puppy, not a cat. The cry of a baby.