Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder
“She had done the ultimate job of creation. She had nothing left. To keep him alive - that was the only artistic gesture she could muster.”
Once an aspiring artist working in her dream job. Then she's fresh off the birthing chair convincing herself she can handle it all. She should be able to, she'd bring the baby to meetings, shows, write emails late into the night while the baby napped beside her. What was so hard about that?
And she tried, oh boy she tried so hard.
But Mother could not handle it. And because dear, precious, never lifts a finger Father makes more money, it was only fair that Mother quit the dream job to take care of the boy.
It'll be fun, said the father. Yes, the Mother thought, thinking he'd be away working five days every week anyway at some goddamned hotel in the middle of nowhere.
The Mother, crippled by extreme exhaustion and left depleted by the neediness of the boy and husband. Burned out by a house that needs to be cleaned from head to toe and a cat she hates begging to be fed.
As though driven to a state of sleep-deprived acute psychosis, this Mother begins to experience canine symptoms in the form of small hair growths, similar to those of a dog, intensifying as her anger grows more feral.
The mother is fantasizing about dogs. She loves dogs, you could even say she’s obsessed with them. She plays, hugs, kisses, and even talks to them. “Did you just get your hair done?” She asks the retriever, as it nuzzles at her neck, licking the palm of her hand.
|Photo by Nathan Biehl|