3. Best Efforts and Cooking Disasters

William changed Liam's diaper, pleased that he could easily change Liam's sleeper for a cute new light blue onesie he'd been saving. A little embroidered bear hugged a larger bear with a pink bow on her head. The two bears were encased in a red heart. In curved letters above the pair it read: "I love my MOMMY!" In smaller letters it proclaimed "Happy Mother's Day." There were hearts on the onesie, just over Liam's bottom, which William felt were a pity to cover up, but as it was a little cold, he put Liam in a soft pair of jeans with snap legs over it. Fortunately, this did not cover up any of the outfit's decorations. William followed this up with the socks that matched the onesie: hugging bears and hearts.

William held Liam up so Liam could practice standing. Liam could hold his own weight up but could not balance at all of course, but Liam always seemed pleased to be standing. Liam babbled "Dadadada gah bada."

"Mamamama, mama, mama." William replied. "Your mommy would love it if you said Mama, Mama."

"Padadada gah da." Liam replied.

"Mama, Mama," William tried again as he'd been trying for weeks.

"Dabama," Liam replied and then stuffed two of his fingers in his mouth and began to suck.

"Did Mama not finish feeding you, sweet boy? Did you interrupt breakfast with a poopoo diaper?"

Liam looked at William with wide eyes and sucked more earnestly.

"Let's see if Mama is ready to finish you up."

Meanwhile, Elizabeth was still showering. She was attempting to wash her hair with one hand while pressing hard with her free hand on her engorged left breast to keep it from leaking. When she switched hands, a long arc of milk spewed out before she crushed it down again. Unconvinced her hair was clean, she rinsed it nevertheless and contorted to apply the conditioner with one hand. Elizabeth felt bone-tired and emotional. All she wanted was to finish her shower, finish nursing Liam and go back to bed.

Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom, towel haphazardly arranged around her dripping form while she kept pressing on her breast. William was sitting on the bed in just his boxers with Liam on his lap.

Elizabeth thought they made a handsome picture. William was rumpled with a careless sort of masculinity. He was muscular, tanned, powerful but held their baby with such gentleness.

William's eyes darkened as he saw his wife, a goddess with delicious curves peeking through the diagonally wrapped white towel, the hand clamped over her left breast only emphasizing its increased girth. He greatly desired to put Liam in his crib, lick the water droplets from her body and then reverently, and gently make love to his wife. It had been days and he was a healthy man in the prime of his life who had needs and found Elizabeth in in any form to be highly desirable. "Hello darling," his voice sounded deep and raw.

Elizabeth felt a pull from William's glance and greeting, but her aching breast took priority. She sat down in her rocking chair, unmindful of the sagging towel and with her free hand extended murmurred "Give him to me."

William stared at Lizzy uncomprehendingly for a moment, her words half jumbled with his fantasy to her saying "Give it to me."

"Now, please! I feel like my breast is about to explode."

Liam whined and wiggled, rousing William from his fantasy. He slid Liam onto her lap and watched in facination as she attached Liam and her towel pooled over the arm of the rocking chair, leaving her bare. William might have stood there forever if Elizabeth who was still feeling self conscious of her flabby tummy and stretch marks had not sent him on an errand. "Will, can you check on the laundry and get me a drink?"

He shook his head, bemused, telling himself Not my turn. "Okay," he croaked out. He shrugged on a robe before she might observe his "condition" and hurried to the laundry room.

Neither load was done so there was nothing to occupy William and distract him from remembrances of his delectable nude wife.

He reminded himself, Today is Mother's Day. It is all about her and not you. She's probably too tired. Liam won't be a baby that long.

William considered whether he should take a cold shower or use shower time to just take care of his problem himself. That weighing of his options was diverted when he walked unto the kitchen to get Elizabeth her drink and recalled his plan to make Elizabeth breakfast in bed. She might be up, but that didn't mean she shouldn't have a nice meal.

William should have considered that he really didn't cook and perhaps ordered delivery from someplace or elected to do something easy like making toast or cooking Pillsbury refrigerated cinnamon rolls and cutting up some strawberries. But his ambition to pull off a spectacular Mother's Day for his beloved wife, faith in his superior intellect (how hard could cooking be, anyway, for a smart guy like me) and unwarranted optimism (of course I can pull this off) made him believe that he could deliver a gourmet breakfast.

William forgot all about getting Elizabeth's big glass of water and set about making pancakes with a berry compote from a recipe he had bookmarked on his phone, along with bacon. Having never really cooked much before, his half-hearted search for Elizabeth's measuring cups and spoons gave way to determining that a silverware tablespoon and teaspoon, and a coffee cup ought to yield the same results. But as all experienced cooks know, they do not.

All the ultimate details of William's cooking woes are unimportant, but given the too runny pancake batter, he haphazardly added flour, measured a tablespoon rather than a teaspoon of salt, and cooked the compote and bacon at too high of heat settings to hurry the process up. It was fortunate he was wearing a robe as it bore the brunt of the splatters of bacon grease and exploding fruit compote that resulted, staining his robe and the kitchen walls but leaving him mostly splatter burn free.

Still, he managed to put together a fairly credible looking plate for Elizabeth: a stack of the most evenly cooked pancakes, topped with a scoop from what remained of the fruit compote in the pot, scrambled eggs with cheese, and two dark but not completely inedible pieces of bacon. He arranged them on a fine China plate, placed that on a tray with sterling silverware, a linen napkin and a small glass of orange juice in a crystal glass (but unfortunately no big glass of water). Resolving to clean up later, he brought the tray into the room only to encounter his slumbering wife sprawled across the bed in her robe, and Liam asleep in his crib. William set the tray down of Elizabeth's nightstand and returned to the kitchen to clean up.

William worked hard, cleaning his big mess and putting away the extra food in the fridge but for a couple of bites of egg (he was a coffee only for breakfast sort of person). He got the kitchen nearly perfect, only missing a large splotch of purply fruit compote that struck the kitchen window valance. He could be excused for missing that as the valance, which Mrs. Bennet had sewn and gifted them, was a riot of color. He folded the laundry and set the next load to drying. By then it was eight-thirty and he decided it was time for a morning shower.

Upon returning to their bedroom, William noticed that Liam was awake and wiggling in his crib, reaching for the mobile animals. William turned on the mobile, setting the mobile gently twirling as a song played. "Be a good boy and let Mama sleep while I have a shower."

Liam reached for the animals, seemingly content. William hurried to shower before that might change. Rather than put on his Sunday best, William got dressed in casual athletic gear as there was still plenty of time yet. Once he was ready, William approached his son. "What a good boy you are, Liam, playing by yourself and giving Mama a break."

Liam babbled cheerfully and reached toward his daddy who got the hint. "Okay, Liam, how about we go for a walk to the park so Mama can sleep?" He picked up his little son, changed his diaper, put him in a zip up hoody, and after leaving his wife a note on the kitchen bulletin board, walked Liam in his stroller to the park. Liam loved the baby swings, but as it was early yet and rather brisk, it was just the two of them. Liam laughed as his swing swooped toward his father (who faced him) and gave him just enough of a push to keep him swinging.

William enjoyed experiencing such moments of his son's delight, seeing his pure happiness and trust. Despite all the hard work, it was delightful to be a parent. His strong arms could easily keep up the pursuit for hours, but after a few minutes, Liam's laughter had diminished to grins, and his face had reddened a bit. After the last swing gave a little whine. "Are you done, Liam? Should we go back to Mama?" William slowed and then stopped the baby swing. Liam reached for him, and William pulled him free, holding Liam nestled against his chest for a moment. He stroked his son's silky hair and cheek. "Oh, you feel a little cold, Liam. Let's get you home."

William pulled Liam's hood up, put Liam back in the stroller and tucked a blanket which was stored in the under carriage around his son. "Let's go see if Mama is up now."

Meanwhile, Elizabeth had just woken up and noted the tray on her nightstand. She was hungry but feeling conflicted. She had been trying her best to eat healthfully without dieting, to shed those last few pregnancy pounds, and here was a huge meal filled with things that she probably shouldn't eat. It looked good, and she was tempted to indulge (after all, she was not unmoved by his efforts, by the love that evidently went into it all) but was not sure she could trust anything William might have made. Although she was hungry, first thirst won out. She got up, drank a large glass of water, and then returned to bed before William could notice.

She leaned over and stabbed a forkful of egg. It was cold now, of course, but seemed okay, until she crunched her teeth on what might have been, who was she kidding, most certainly was, a piece of eggshell. As they got fresh eggs from a neighbor, which weren't exactly clean, that crunch stopped her right in the middle of the chew. The question was, swallow it down or spit it out? Spitting it out won out and she dashed to the toilet to do just that.

Elizabeth returned to bed and examined the rest of the contents of the tray. Were there any eggshells in the pancakes? Would the overcooked bacon still taste okay? She decided she needed to at least sample everything on her plate. She cut a little square of pancake from the edge and cautiously chewed it. The flavor wasn't bad, but it was too salty, and the bitterness of the baking soda left an unpleasant aftertaste. If she was going to "throw down" and forget about her healthy diet, she would have preferred to eat something that was indulgent and worth all the extra calories. Still, the pancakes were edible. Feeling a little braver, she cut and ate a couple more pieces from the side and got a swipe of the fruit compote. The compote was pretty good, if gelatinous. Feeling a bit braver, she cut a bigger bite, more toward the center, and saw raw batter pour out. Floating on this were some large chunks of unmixed flour.

"No, nuh-uh." Elizabeth announced to herself. She set down her utensils and picked up a strip of overcooked bacon. She ate half of it. It was exactly what it looked like: overcooked bacon. It was passable, but not good enough to tempt her to eat more of it. She washed it down with the orange juice and then proceeded to eat the rest of the fruit compote off the top of the pancake stack.

Feeling like a criminal, Elizabeth snuck out of their bedroom with the tray, expecting to see her husband, but hoping she could make it to the garbage with the rest of her breakfast without being spotted. She made it, scraped off the plate and put the dirties in the sink, and left the tray on the counter. She grabbed a paper towel, wiped her mouth and crumpled it up, placing it carefully a top the food in the trash. There, hopefully he won't notice how little I ate.

Elizabeth debated cooking herself some oatmeal. She was still hungry but did not want William to think that she did not appreciate his efforts. Her mind was made up when she spotted his note and that decided it for her. There was time. She cooked her oatmeal and then got some milk from the fridge to mix in, spotting the wrapped stack of pancakes. I hope he doesn't expect me to keep eating those. She shuddered as if tasting the raw batter on her tongue. Gross! She rummaged through the fridge, hoping that there might be some fresh berries left to add to her oatmeal, but unfortunately there were not, so she settled for a sliced banana instead.

Elizabeth ate, feeling like she was missing something. It was too quiet, that was it. Although they could not have been gone very long, she missed William and Liam. She did appreciate being left to sleep and having breakfast prepared for her, but she would have rather eaten breakfast with William. Perhaps if he had eaten some, they might have been sharing a chuckle over his ineptitude. She smiled to herself in imagining it. But would he, even now, be able to kid about falling short?

Elizabeth suddenly remembered a conversation with her mother. "Men act all strong and tough, but under it all they can be easily hurt. They all want to think they are the best at everything, still need their wives to praise them, just as they got praise from their mothers. Remember that, and you and William will do well."

Although Elizabeth had told William not to make a fuss, she was almost certain that more Mother's Day celebration was coming. Elizabeth resolved to praise all of William's efforts that day.

Elizabeth hurriedly finished her oatmeal and feeling like a criminal, she washed the pot and bowl before putting them in the dishwasher for sterilization. But she left the plate and silverware from his breakfast to her in the sink. Hopefully he wouldn't put together that she had made herself something else for breakfast.

Elizabeth glanced at the clock. A quarter to ten. She needed to dress for church. She hoped William and Liam would be back soon or they would be late for church.

William and Liam would have been home if not currently having a conversation with their next-door neighbor that William would have escaped if he were not trying to avoid being rude. Mrs. Lima was a busybody, plain and simple, and talked more than anyone William had ever known his whole life. It made sense, though, in a way. She was a widow who lived alone, so she probably didn't get to talk to many people. She droned on and on about the goings on in the neighborhood, mentioning people and events that William did not care about.

William had been sucked into stopping just moments from his own door by Mrs. Lima dashing across the street from her home. She had been sitting on her porch, apparently waiting for her next victim. "Yoo-hoo, William, you must let me have a look at your darling baby." Of course he paused, and even crossed the street for her. If there was one thing that William was a sucker for, it was anyone praising his son.

"Good morning Mrs. Lima."

"Oh yes, cute as a button, sleeping away. Now did you hear that Mrs. Penderson, a block over on Elm, just got a guinea pig for her daughter Samantha? She is only three. What can that woman be thinking? . . . " "Now you know, you've really got to sleep train your son. He'll keep you up every night if you let him . . . " On and on it went, gossip and unsolicited advice. Mrs. Lima hardly took a breath, and the most William was able to contribute was an "uh-huh" every now and again (although he did not "uh-huh" the sleep training advice, he and Elizabeth subscribed to the attachment method of parenting).

William racked his head for an excuse to get away from her and had one prepared if only she would stop talking for a moment. She took a deep inhale of breath and he saw his chance, "We've got to be . . . "

"Oh, it is early yet. You've got plenty of time . . ." Mrs. Lima continued on, not giving him a chance to respond.

It seemed to William that she did not inhale again for the next five minutes or so. Feeling rude, he finally burst in again, "We've got church and it's Mother's Day. I've got to go." He turned the stroller and behind him her words carried on, "Oh, Mother's Day, what a wonderful holiday. Of course, my children should visit me today, but they all live out of state, but I got a wonderful gift from my Jim. He sent me printed out photobook of the girls. Sarah sent me a new coffeemaker, because I told her about how mine had broken. She got me the exact brand I had been hoping for. Now Jackson is overseas with the navy, but I expect a letter from him any day . . . ."

She probably continued on, but William didn't hear anymore, because by that time he had made it through the door. He thought to himself: I don't blame her children for moving far away. But then his next thought was, What if Liam moves far away from us some day? He shook his head ruefully to himself. Liam was only five months old. If that happened it was probably almost two decades away.

There wasn't much time for anything when William made it through the door but to dress and leave for church. When they were in the car, he asked "How did you like your breakfast?"

Elizabeth had carefully thought out her anticipated response and planned to use the "sandwich" method if need be. "It was so thoughtful of you to go through all that effort. I never expected it. Thank you!"

"Oh, you deserve all that and more. I've got . . ." William cut himself off. He had plenty more surprises planned, but she didn't need to know that yet. "Did you like how it tasted?"

"Well, I really liked the flavor of the berry compote. Did you make that with fresh berries?"

"Yes, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries and raspberries. What about the pancakes? I found a recipe with five-star reviews."

"Well . . ." Elizabeth did not want to lie and felt cornered. She recalled all too well the stack of leftover pancakes in the fridge. If she praised them too much, he would expect her to eat more of them. "The basic flavor was pretty good, but you know I am trying to eat healthier than that."

"Well, it's Mother's Day. You deserve to indulge a little. I just wanted you to feel pampered, to have breakfast in bed." He added wryly, "Of course, you were asleep for that."

If Elizabeth had been less tired (going back to sleep hadn't really helped her make up on all the sleep, she continually lost) and if her emotions hadn't already been running the gambit on this emotionally charged day, she wouldn't have heard a criticism in William's last words, a criticism that he did not intend.

"I'm sorry," she said sarcastically, "that I wasn't up so you could serve me the way you planned out. Excuse me for catching a little more sleep after being up half the night."

"Whoa, whoa, it's good if you were able to sleep a little more. Seriously." William did not understand the turn the conversation had taken. "I know you never get enough sleep. This morning Mrs. Lima was going on and on about sleep training and . . ." He was about to say that while he thought sleep training was a bad idea, he could understand how some sleep-deprived parents could turn to it out of desperation, that he wanted to do more to help her. But Elizabeth cut him off and didn't give him the chance.

"I am not EVER going to let Liam 'cry it out.' That is a firm NO. I'm his mother and I know what is best for him." Elizabeth gave a little sob at the end of her sentence. She was so tired and did not understand why William was being so mean.

William for his part was trying to salvage the conversation. He wanted to turn toward her, to see her expression, to try to reassure her. He felt like everything was out of control and he didn't know why, but he was the one driving and this particular patch of road was winding and required his full attention. He was not going to do anything to endanger his family.

William took a deep breath and tried to organize his thoughts. In a gentle, quiet tone he said "I wasn't ever going to suggest that. I was going to say, I know I need to do more, that you need more sleep."

"Oh." Elizabeth couldn't find a way to be mad at that, but she still felt out of sorts.

An uneasy quiet fell upon them and then they arrived.

Yes, not done yet. I guess this short story will take as long as it takes.