New husband. New baby. So why did she want to run home?

It figures that Mali Baum née Sheiner would need a C-section after 21 hours of labor. It just follows the not-so-comedy of errors that has been her life since she married Nosson two years earlier.

First the apartment on the kollel block had fallen through, and they’d ended up in that hole of a basement. Then they’d both gotten mono and been out for the count, and Smith & Cohen had fired her. Of course, that hadn’t been the official reason, but she knew. And then, to top it all off, they’d been burgled. Who gets burgled in Lakewood?

She could check her mezuzahs, or go to an ayin hara lady. Or she could just look at Nosson. Because honestly, that’s where all the broken, potholed roads lead to.

He hadn’t signed on the apartment in time, the realtor said. He hadn’t locked the door before they went grocery shopping, even though he’d been positive he had and refused to go back to check. And honestly, he’d gotten mono first. Maybe that one wasn’t his fault, but it was his fault that he curled up on the couch and moaned every single day for two months straight, while she cooked and worked and shopped her way through it. Just the memory makes her roll her eyes.

But today really takes the cake. Nosson outdid himself in the unhelpful department. Again, maybe it’s not his fault she needed a C-section, but he definitely didn’t make it any less inevitable. If anything, he made her try less. Because when in the throes of back-labor, the thought of co-parenting with Nosson was just plain exhausting.

The baby starts to cry, and the sweet helplessness of the sound makes Mali’s eyes fill. She cranes her neck to peer into the plastic crib. The baby’s tiny eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and her head is turned to the side, as if to say, “I’ll just lie here and cry, don’t trouble yourself about me.”

Mali tries to sit up; a deep burn spreads across her middle.

Stupid, stupid C-section.

She presses the call button, and Natalie, the curly-haired nurse, pops her head in.

“Need something, hun?”

Oh, so many things, Mali thinks.

“Thanks. The baby is crying,” is what she says.

Natalie lifts the baby and peers at Mali. “You think you’re up to holding her?”

Mali does a quick mental review. Everything hurts. Everything. So par for the course, then.

“Yes, I want to hold her. Thank you.”

Natalie makes soft crooning noises and bends to lift the baby. Mali winces just looking at her movements.

“Isn’t she amazing?” the nurse says, bundling her safely into Mali’s aching arms.

Amazing that something so pure can come out of something so misshapen, Mali thinks.

“Amazing,” she echoes aloud.

Nosson says chassidim don’t name for two weeks. Mali looks at his clean-shaven face and chup and tries to figure out why he thinks he’s chassidish, but whatever. She’s given up trying to understand his hodge-podge of minhagim. “Because my father does it like that,” is a stupid answer in her book.