It's four a.m.. She rolls over, in her sleep. She hears something, and instantly begins to wake up. The room is dark, but she feels as if she's not alone. A sense of panic begins to set in. She turns the lamp on. She finds a familiar face, standing near the bed. He hovers, over the basinet.
"What are you doing?" she wonders.
"I am just checking on the two of you," he admits.
"We were sleeping. I was sleeping."
"I'm sorry."
"I just fell asleep, ten minutes ago. She just got done eating. I changed her, and put her back to bed."
"Why don't you let me take her?"
"Take her, where?"
"To her room," he suggests.
"She's fine," she argues.
"You have been up, and down, all night. Let me take her, for a couple of hours."
"What good is that going to do? You will just have to bring her back to me."
"I can handle it."
"And, when she wakes up, because she's hungry, then what are you going to do?"
"Go make a bottle."
"Go make a bottle? There isn't any formula."
"I bought some formula, and I sterilized the bottles."
"No."
"Olivia, you look exhausted. You don't have to do it all."
"Yes I do," she argues.
He steps away, from the basinet. He takes a seat, on the edge of the bed, next to her.
"Why?"
"Because I have to."
"Olivia, you don't have to."
"Yes," she argues, "I do."
"Why?"
"I want to do everything right."
"You're exhausted. She's going to be just as happy, if she gets a bottle once, in the middle of the night."
"No. Fin, you don't understand."
"Then explain it to me. Stop shutting me out. I am not going to judge you."
"I am her mother. I want to do everything right. I am the only one who is responsible for her. It is my job to take care of her. I just want to be a good mother," she admits, with the tears trailing down her face.
"You already are."
"You don't understand," she shakes her head, as the tears stream down her cheeks.
"Make me understand."
"It's not as if there is just some switch. It's not like I look at her, and the switch just flipped. It is still hard. It still hurts. No matter how much I love her, or how much I know she's done nothing wrong, it is still hard. It's hard for me to look at her, and wonder who she's going to be."
"Then why are you doing this?"
"Because I am selfish," she answers, simply.
He shakes his head, "No, you're not."
"I want her. Someone could probably do a better job at raising her. Someone who isn't a workaholic."
"No," he disagrees.
"I don't want to screw this up. I want to know that I have done everything in my power, to give her as normal of a life, as I possibly can."
"I get that. What I don't get is how one bottle, in the middle of the night, is going to affect that."
"I just want to bond with her."
"You're not getting any sleep. Being sleep deprived makes you moody. It makes you..."
"Fin, I am used to being sleep deprived."
"Not with a screaming baby, you're not."
"I don't want to give her formula."
"Can we make a compromise?"
"What do you suggest."
"Why don't you pump?"
"I don't know about that..."
"You need more than an hour and a half of sleep, at a time. I am just asking you, to let me take her, for a few hours, in the night, so you can have some sleep."
"I'll think about it."
"That is all that I ask."
"Can I go back to sleep, now?"
"I don't think that we're done talking," he argues.
"What more do you want me to say? You already made me cry."
"That is easy these days."
"It's not fair. I can't control it."
"What are you feeling?"
"Tired."
"Olivia," he growls.
"Overwhelmed. I feel overwhelmed."
"What else?"
"I don't know? Mostly tired."
"That's it?"
"Confused."
"Confused?"
"I don't understand, how you can look at someone, for the first time, and be so in love with them."
"Welcome to parenthood."
"Can I go back to sleep, now?"
"Yes, I'll be in the other room," he gets up, to leave.
"Fin?"
"Yeah?" he stops a couple of feet from her bed.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"You don't have to stay here. No on is asking you to. You have on obligation, here."
"You're my friend. As much as you hate to admit it, you could use my help, at least for a couple more days."
"How did you get so good at this?"
"I had a lot of practice. When Ken was born, I worked nights. I stayed home, during the day, and I took care of him. I was exhausted, all of the time, but I loved every minute of it."
"I just never pictured you changing a diaper."
"Neither did I. Having kids melts your heart, no matter how cold, and stone-like it is."
