Chapter 98 The Six Week Check In

Chapter 98 The Six Week Check In


Harper sat in the doctor's waiting room at six weeks postpartum, Eleanor sleeping in her carrier, and tried to remember what it felt like to be a functional human being. Sleep deprivation had turned her brain to mush. She'd worn her shirt inside out and hadn't noticed until Sebastian pointed it out in the parking lot.

"You look tired," the receptionist said sympathetically.

"I am tired. I'm so tired I can't remember what not tired feels like." Harper's laugh was slightly unhinged. "Is that normal?"

"Completely normal. First baby?"

"That obvious?"

"The inside out shirt was a hint."

Harper fixed her shirt in the bathroom, catching sight of herself in the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair in a messy bun that hadn't been washed in three days. Spit-up stain on her shoulder she hadn't noticed. This was motherhood. Glamorous.

The medical assistant called her back, weighing Eleanor first. "Twelve pounds, four ounces. Excellent weight gain. She's in the 75th percentile."

"Is that good?"

"That's great. You're clearly feeding her well."

Feeding her constantly was more accurate. Eleanor ate every two hours, sometimes more frequently. Harper's entire life had become a cycle of nursing, burping, diaper changes, and very brief periods of sleep.

The pediatrician came in, a kind woman named Dr. Martinez who'd seen them twice already for Harper's paranoid concerns.

"How's Eleanor doing?" Dr. Martinez asked, examining the baby with practiced efficiency.

"Good, I think? She eats constantly. Sleeps in two-hour chunks. Cries a lot in the evenings. Is that normal?"

"Completely normal. That evening crying is probably purple crying or colic. It peaks around six weeks and gets better after that."

"Gets better as in stops?"

"Gets better as in becomes more manageable." Dr. Martinez smiled. "How are you doing, Harper?"

"I'm fine."

"Harper." Dr. Martinez's tone was gentle. "How are you really doing?"

Harper felt tears immediately. Damn postpartum hormones. "I'm exhausted. I cry all the time. I'm terrified something will happen to her. I check her breathing constantly. Sometimes I just stare at her and cry because I love her so much it hurts."

"That all sounds normal. But I want to ask some screening questions, okay? Just to check in on your mental health."

The questions came: How often do you feel sad? Do you have thoughts of harming yourself or the baby? Can you sleep when the baby sleeps? Do you feel bonded to Eleanor?

Harper answered honestly. Yes, she felt sad sometimes. No, she'd never thought about harming herself or Eleanor. Sleep was impossible even when Eleanor slept because Harper kept checking to make sure she was breathing. And yes, she felt bonded. So bonded it was overwhelming.

"You're doing great," Dr. Martinez said. "These are normal new parent feelings. But I want you to keep monitoring. If the sadness gets worse, if you start feeling detached from Eleanor, if you have any scary thoughts, call me immediately. Postpartum depression is treatable."

"Okay."

"And Harper? You need to take care of yourself too. Sleep when the baby sleeps, even if it's just twenty minutes. Accept help from your husband. Lower your standards for everything else."

"I haven't showered in three days."

"Then that's what you do next. Shower. It'll help."

At home, Sebastian took Eleanor immediately. "Go shower. Take your time. I've got her."

Harper stood under hot water for twenty minutes, crying for no reason, washing her hair twice because she'd forgotten if she'd already washed it. When she emerged, she felt slightly more human.

Sebastian was on the couch with Eleanor on his chest, both of them sleeping. Harper's heart squeezed. This man who'd started as a business arrangement had become her everything. The way he looked at Eleanor, the way he took the 2 AM feeding shift without complaint, the way he'd learned to change diapers in the dark.

She took a photo, wanting to remember this moment. Then she carefully extracted Eleanor for her next feeding.

"How was the appointment?" Sebastian asked groggily.

"Eleanor's perfect. Healthy. Growing well." Harper settled into the nursing chair. "Dr. Martinez asked about my mental health. Had me do a depression screening."

Sebastian was immediately alert. "And?"

"I'm okay. Normal new parent anxiety and exhaustion, not clinical depression. But she wants me to keep monitoring."

"Are you being honest with me? If you're struggling, I need to know."

Harper considered lying, then decided against it. "I'm struggling sometimes. I cry a lot. I'm so tired I can barely think. But I also love her so much it's terrifying. Is that struggling or just normal?"

"I think it's both." Sebastian moved beside her, watching Eleanor nurse. "I'm struggling too. I keep having nightmares that something happens to her. That I mess up and she gets hurt. I wake up in a panic and have to check that she's breathing."

"I do that too. Multiple times a night."

"We're disasters."

"Complete disasters." Harper smiled despite her exhaustion. "But we're keeping her alive, so that's something."

"That's everything."

Eleanor finished nursing and immediately spit up down Harper's clean shirt. Harper stared at the mess, too tired to care.

"This is my life now. Covered in various baby fluids at all times."

"Glamorous."

"So glamorous."

That evening, Jessie came over with food. She was eight months pregnant now, huge and uncomfortable, but insisted on checking in.

"You look terrible," Jessie said bluntly.

"Thanks. That's exactly what I needed to hear."

"I'm serious. Have you slept?"

"Eleanor sleeps in two-hour chunks. So I sleep in ninety-minute chunks after feeding her. It's basically torture."

"When does it get better?"

"Dr. Martinez says the crying peaks at six weeks then improves. Sleep theoretically gets better around three months."

"Three months." Jessie looked horrified. "I'm having twins. I'm never going to sleep again."

"Probably not. Sorry."

They laughed, slightly hysterical. Eleanor started crying, that evening fussiness Dr. Martinez had mentioned.

"Want me to take her?" Jessie offered. "Give you a break?"

"I should warn you, she's been crying for hours every evening. Nothing helps. We just have to ride it out."

Jessie took Eleanor anyway, bouncing her gently while Harper ate the food she'd brought. Real food, not the crackers and random snacks Harper had been surviving on.

"This is good," Harper said around a mouthful of pasta. "Thank you."

"When's the last time you had a real meal?"

"I don't remember. Days blur together."

Eleanor cried harder. Jessie tried everything Harper suggested, nothing worked. Finally, she handed her back.

"How do you do this every night?"

"I have no idea. Survival instinct, probably." Harper held Eleanor close, swaying in the particular rhythm that sometimes helped. "Shh, baby girl. I know. Everything's terrible and you're so upset. But you're okay. Mom's got you."

Slowly, the crying subsided. Eleanor hiccupped, made a few more protesting sounds, then settled.

"You're magic," Jessie said.

"I'm desperate. There's a difference."

After Jessie left, Sebastian found Harper standing over Eleanor's crib, watching her sleep.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Dr. Martinez asked if I'm happy. If I can find moments of happiness in all this chaos." Harper looked at him. "Am I happy?"

"Are you?"

Harper thought about it. She was exhausted beyond measure. Her body still hurt. Her brain was mush. She cried at commercials and couldn't remember her own phone number.

But watching Eleanor sleep, feeling Sebastian's arms around her, knowing they'd created this tiny perfect person together?

"Yes," Harper said. "I'm happy. Exhausted and overwhelmed and sometimes sad for no reason. But underneath it all, I'm happy."

"Me too." Sebastian kissed her temple. "Terrified and exhausted, but happy."

Eleanor stirred, making small sounds. They both held their breath, waiting to see if she'd wake. She settled back into sleep.

"Small victories," Harper whispered.

"The only kind we're getting right now."

They went to bed, knowing they had maybe two hours before Eleanor woke again. Harper set her phone alarm as backup, though she always woke before it, that new parent hyperawareness making deep sleep impossible.

"Sebastian?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For this. For her. For being exactly what I needed even though we started this whole thing as a business deal."

"Thank you for choosing me. For giving me this family." His hand found hers in the dark. "For teaching me what really matters."

Eleanor cried at 11 PM, 1 AM, 3 AM, and 5 AM. Each time, Harper dragged herself from bed, nursed her daughter, changed her, got her back to sleep. Each time, Sebastian woke too, offering help even though there was nothing he could do for a breastfeeding baby at 3 AM.

At 7 AM, Harper woke to Sebastian already up with Eleanor, changing her diaper, talking to her in that soft voice he reserved for their daughter.

"Morning, Ellie-bean. Did you have a good night? You only woke up four times. That's an improvement from six. We're moving in the right direction."

Harper watched from the doorway, heart full despite the exhaustion.

Six weeks. They'd survived six weeks.

Dr. Martinez had asked if she was happy.

Looking at Sebastian with Eleanor, at this family they'd built from a contract and desperation and unexpected love, Harper knew the answer.

Yes.

Exhausted, overwhelmed, covered in spit-up, running on two hours of sleep.

But happy.

So incredibly happy.