Excerpt: Single. Mom.

She had been dreading this moment since Anna had presented her with a sterile water bottle and instructed her to spray herself with water while she urinated. The thought of having to pee made her so uncomfortable she nearly burst into tears, until she encountered the idea that she would someday need to have a bowel movement. What was worse was that someday wasn’t someday in the same sense as “someday I want to go to Europe”, but someday as in “sometime in the next 48 hours”. The thought terrified her and her terror only multiplied after her first experience with the water bottle.
She had filled the bottle and steadied herself on the toilet but made a crucial error- she started to urinate before she sprayed the water. It felt like passing shards of glass. After this incident she felt she would rather have another baby right then and there than have to pee again, let alone defecate.
It was inevitable. When the urge came over her, she plucked up her nerve and approached the bathroom. When it was over, she could not help but laugh at herself for being a little proud. She almost felt that she deserved a trophy for her efforts. It was then that her brain was seized with curiosity.
She had been avoiding her body since the pajama incident. It was too much to think about. She already had to learn how to care for this tiny, defenseless creature, she certainly couldn’t think about what she looked like. But she had to know. She had to know what she looked like, what it looked like after having birthed a child. She knew there were stitches. She knew that she had tears from her haste. She remembered being sewn up on her own bed while she lavished attention on tiny fingers and toes.
A compact was handy in the vanity drawer. She sat down on the toilet and positioned the mirror so she could see what had happened to her, so she could see the source of her pain and discomfort. The compact landed squarely in the toilet.
“I look like Frankenstein.”
It was too painful to cry.