It came in a box.
I don’t know what we were expecting, exactly. Maybe a special carry case, or at the very least something cozy. The box was corrugated cardboard, the kind that smells strong and is horrible to touch. Coarse. The box was not fitting for the contents is what I’m trying to say.
When I heard the doorbell, I said to Lou, my husband, I said, ‘Lou, it’s here!’ And Lou said, ‘Georgia, I don’t think we should be calling it an “it”, do you?’ And then I said, ‘Oh Jesus, Lou, just open the damn door and let the delivery guy in.’ An inauspicious start if there ever was one.
The delivery man was all full of smiles and congratulatory remarks.
‘Other couples have been really pleased with their orders.’
‘That’s good,’ I said, wanting the interaction to be done so we could unbox.
‘The company has had almost no returns at all so far.’
‘Almost none?’ Lou said, and I gave him a look that told him now wasn’t the time. There just wasn’t space in my heart, you know, for any thoughts of ever sending it back.
It took a while to get ours. Once they hit the market everyone wanted one, and I mean everyone. It had been decades since anyone had a real one, so the idea that we could all have a try and see what it had been like in the old days was … I don’t know, there was some novelty in that, I guess. There was a waiting list as long as the oceans are deep.
The thing about them was that in a way, they made everyone equal. You didn’t have to have special skills, or take a test, or have a home inspection. You could just get one and go from there.
Lou and I lived in a simple two bedroom house on an ordinary street in a suburb like any other. We had a tiny garden, a kitchen with the basics, and a shower over the bath. Lou worked at the post office, which I know people think is a dying profession, but that’s only because they don’t understand it. Me, I worked as a receptionist at a dentist’s office. I know they say it’s the doctors who see the whole of humanity, but I’m telling you now that you can’t even begin to picture some of the things that I’ve seen sitting at that front desk. There is more than one way to lose a tooth, and that’s the truth.
I’m getting sidetracked. By the time ours arrived in that understated cardboard box there had been several versions on the market. The first ones had flaws that had been fixed in the subsequent models. Excessively noisy and demanding, was what one online reviewer had said. The company said that most of the kinks had been worked out in the next few versions and we all trusted them. Nobody wanted to seem like theirs was out of control, or like they weren’t able to handle their order.
‘Things are never as good or as bad as they say they are’, Lou always used to say, when I’d read him posts from other buyers.
We waited for the delivery guy to drive off, and then took our box through to the spare room. We’d set it up with ample space, dim lighting, the works, just like they said to do on the website, and in all the online posts I’d read by people who’d received theirs already.
‘You open it,’ I said. ‘I’m too nervous.’
Lou moved closer to the box I’d placed on the dresser like he was approaching a cat that might scratch.
‘No,’ I said, stepping forward. ‘Let me do it. I should be the first. Like in the old days.’
‘Okay.’ Lou stepped back. ‘Though technically—’
He saw the look on my face and didn’t go on. Though he’d listened to me, I hesitated. It felt like something was missing. Like we needed a ceremony or something to mark the occasion. I’d heard stories from my mother’s generation that they used to gather people for times like these – mostly women, but sometimes men too. In the past this was an important moment, but for us that grandeur was missing. We were all alone in this, right from the beginning, but with extra pressure from the world to succeed given all the information and advice we had at our fingertips.
‘This is it, Lou. It’s finally happening.’
Lou took my hand, and we stepped closer, together this time. He handed the knife to me, and I slid it along the thick tape that held the box closed. Instantly noise erupted from within. A shrill piercing sound.
‘Hurry up, Georgia!’
‘I’m going as fast as I can. I don’t want to slip the knife in and …’
I couldn’t finish that sentence. The thought was too ghastly.
Finally, the knife met the end of the box, and we could pull apart the flaps. Inside was our very own baby.
‘It’s a girl!’
I started to cry, and laugh, and breathe out of rhythm so that before I could reach in and pick her up, I found myself sitting down on the floor. Thankfully, Lou took charge, scooping her up from the box and wrapping her in one of the stretchy muslins we’d bought from the store, based on its many good reviews.
‘She’s perfect,’ he said, his voice catching too now. I watched him look at our daughter, beaming love down at her. Not just the two of us anymore, I thought. Everything was shifting right in front of my eyes.
‘Hi there sweetheart. We’re your Mom and Dad.’
The baby continued to wail.
‘Georgia, get up and look at her! Come on.’
I stood up on shaky legs and we both examined her, wonderful and strange. Lou started to bop on his knees, rocking her from side to side, making shushing sounds. I stood there like a limp cucumber in a fresh salad, useless and unwanted.
‘Hand her over,’ I said, not meaning for it to come out so forcefully.
Lou was startled but did as I asked. She was lighter than I expected, though it had said on the order form that she’d be around two and a half kilograms and would stay that way. Light enough to take on trips as hand luggage, was the selling point.
Somehow the company had made it look so alive, just like I imagined a baby would look. The skin on her cheeks was smooth and soft, and her little hand was balled up in a fist, shaking at the air with the commitment and vigour of a tiny dictator. Her hands and feet were bluish – something they said would change over time as the in-built circulatory system kicked in. She was warm too, not cold like the plastic I knew she was made of. Something about hydraulics and thermoregulation … I can’t remember what it said in the ad. Seeing her, so vulnerable and powerless, it was moving in a way.
My mother said there had been a similar toy in her day. Back then it was an egg that you carried around with you – pocket sized. All the girls her age had had one. Her toy sounded to me like a key ring. Our T-baby felt like a human.
I tried to bend my knees and bop like Lou had, shushing gently at first and then progressively louder as her screaming continued. It got right to the core of me, that noise. Prompted animal feelings. Rage. Fear. A desire to run and hide, but also to battle and defend and spill blood.
‘She won’t stop crying.’
Lou grabbed the instruction manual and began to page through it.
‘It says to check her levels as soon as you open the box.’
Each T-baby came with four measures that had to be monitored at all times, and a bunch of other vitals that could be read on your smart watch once you’d synced up. There was the hunger meter, which told you when you were supposed to feed her with milk, or a snack. The happy meter showed you when you were supposed to play with her or talk to her or read a book. Some of the T-babies could be persuaded with a snack for happiness too, just like a real person. The sleep meter said when she needed to go down for a sleep. The final one was the discipline meter.
It had always struck me as strange that this was necessary for a baby, but the developers said it was one of the ways they’d managed to sort out some of the more unpredictable elements. We were supposed to use it to guide us on when not to respond to her cries. Like if we’d fed her and played with her and she was still crying, there shouldn’t be any need to console her. Or if we’d put her down to nap, she was supposed to sleep. She shouldn’t call for attention and should learn to self soothe. At least, that’s what all the guides said. It felt off to me, but I wasn’t an expert after all.
I slowly turned her over, checking the meters behind her neck. Both the hungry meter and the sleep meter were very low, flashing red warning signs.
‘She’s starving and exhausted.’
‘You’d think they would have given one that was in a better state. How are we supposed to get to know it if it’s screaming or asleep?’
‘Not “it” Lou. Anyway, we’ve got time. At least we know what she wants.’
My mom said in the old days you just had to work that out on your own. Try everything and see what helped. I thought that sounded exhausting.
‘I guess.’
The baby’s crying turned to a choking wrenching sob, her body shuddering and her face scrunched into a look of extreme pain or fury.
‘We’ve got to sort this out. Is there milk in the box?’
Lou rummaged around and pulled out two bottles. They looked full, but when you tilted them, the milk seemed to disappear. If you righted them, the milk was back. A trick of sight. The company said they’d based them on an old children’s toy, back when there were children. The plastic of the bottles was thick and would definitely yellow if left in the sun. It seemed poor quality, but Lou said I’d been overspending so we hadn’t bought any others.
‘You sit down with her in the chair, Georgia. I’ll bring them over.’
I sat in the armchair we’d bought for just this purpose and rested the baby’s head on my arm in a way that seemed comfortable for both of us. Lou handed me a bottle and I tilted it so that it fit into her open mouth. Silence descended and I noticed that Lou was breathing loudly, almost panting in panic. Poor guy had been as upset as I was by all that noise, but it was hard to be sympathetic to each other when we both felt we were responding to a crisis.
‘You were right,’ I said, wanting to smooth things over between us.
‘Huh?’
‘She is perfect Lou. And she’s ours.’
He came closer and looked down at us both, tenderness in his eyes like I’d never seen before. I could hear the little beeps as her hunger meter started to replenish. It was impossible for me to imagine how it had been in the old days. I’d have had to be half topless, breast flopped out while she was attached to it. The idea felt indecent. This was better.
When the international government had declared all that time ago that it was best for humanity and the planet that no further babies be born, it had been a lot for the world to handle. I’d only been about five when they made the announcement, so most of what I knew was from reading the news and speaking with my own parents.
A simple way of looking at it was that there had been two major responses. Agreement and relief from those who could see how badly things were going, what with the rising temperatures and pollution and flooding and wave after wave of pandemic. Then there was the other side that believed it was the natural order of things for people to breed and connect with children. There had been protests. Lots of deaths – essential or unnecessary, depending on which side you were on.
Of course, it had taken more than the law to get the whole mess sorted. They’d had to deal with the problem of fertility. I was only ten, too young to understand what it meant when my parents told me I was going in for the essential procedure.
‘Will Bobby be going in too,’ I’d asked about my brother.
‘No, this is a special thing, just for girls,’ my dad had said.
My mother hadn’t come along. She couldn’t stop weeping for months after that. It was hard for me to have strong feelings about something that was happening to everyone else around me. I wasn’t unique. Every girl I knew went in and came out with the script for a lifetime of pills that we had to take. It was, it is, just the way things are. Better than some of the other things I’d heard had been done to women over the centuries.
‘How long does it take … to feed her I mean,’ Lou’s voice brought me back to the present.
‘I don’t know. What does it say in the manual?’
Lou flipped through the pages and began to read.
‘Feeds will be around twenty to forty minutes, eight to twelve times a day for the first few weeks. Some models fall asleep during this time. This is fine but if they do not grow you may have to wake them to make sure they drink more. Growth will be measured by weekly scan and synced with your smart watch. Use the following QR code to register your model and upload statistics.’
‘Up to forty minutes! Jeez. That seems a bit intense.’ His face had fallen, and he was frowning.
‘I guess. I’m sure it will get easier over time.’
‘But I mean, what do I do while you’re doing that? That’s almost eight hours a day you’ll be sitting here feeding.’
‘Not just me, sometimes you’ll be doing it too.’
We hadn’t talked about this. I didn’t think we needed to.
Things were different in society now, different from how they’d ever been. Women like me didn’t have to give up years of our lives to care for young children and could do things my parents’ generation could never imagine. Study longer. Work sooner. Excel. Some argued that the essential procedures had been the real start of the equality of the sexes. Workers not wombs, was one of the slogans of the more radical feminist groups. It shocked me to hear stories from my grandmother and parents about some of the things women had been expected to do, just because we birthed the children. Women my age could be whoever we wanted to be. No guilt about what we were giving up in order to fulfil our dreams, because there was nothing to give up.
It was widely agreed that this was an age of progress. But, given the surprise and resistance that was writing itself across Lou’s face, I realised that there was possibly still some of that old habit left in the men my age, to pass the buck to women when things felt inessential to the world. It was like it was absorbed by osmosis or epigenetics or something like that.
‘She’s both of ours, Lou. Not just mine. We chose this together.’
‘Yes, but you’re the mom …’
He paged through the manual as if it was going to relieve him of having to argue his point. I felt an unfamiliar rage begin to grow inside me.
‘What does it say Lou?’
‘Joint parental involvement is the healthiest thing for a baby’s happy meter. Parents who commit to and connect with a baby build stronger bonds and increase the likelihood that the child will grow up to be smarter, healthier, and more independent.’
Saved by the book, I thought. I tried to keep any trace of smugness out of my voice.
‘See.’
‘It just says I have to connect, not that I have to feed her. I don’t have the time for that. It’s like a full time job.’
‘Exactly. That’s why we should share the load.’
The baby’s eyes cast around, listening to our voices but not yet able to see Lou since he was so far up. It was awful, him towering above us in that moment.
‘I think you’re missing the point—’
‘Calm down Lou. Lower your voice. You’re upsetting her.’
There was a long silence as the baby suckled the milk and I stared at her, partly because I couldn’t stop, and partly because I was avoiding making eye contact with Lou who I knew was trying to think of ways to justify his unreasonable idea. Eventually, I caved. I didn’t want our first moments with our little girl to feel so fraught.
‘We should name her.’
‘You’re right.’
We’d made lists of baby names for months and had settled on our top five. When I looked down at her I saw a Stella. Lou, on the other hand, saw an Astrid. Nothing was going the way I’d expected.
‘We don’t have to decide now,’ said Lou, after some terse debate.
‘She can’t just go around without a name.’
‘She not going to be going anywhere. The manual says it’s best that the family stays home for the first two weeks to promote bonding.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘I mean, I don’t know why I should be here. It doesn’t sound like there’s much need for me—’
‘What?’
‘I’m just saying that if you’re doing the feeds then—’
‘But—’
‘Georgia—’
‘Lou—’
‘Let’s talk about it when she’s asleep.’
He looked at his watch.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘Checking how long you’ve been feeding for. We don’t want to give her too much. It says in the manual that it can give them gas. And you’re supposed to change sides, so they don’t get imbalanced muscles.’
‘Her hunger meter is only half full.’
‘She’s falling asleep.’
Her eyes were closed, and she looked so content, so peaceful. She was still suckling the bottle, but the rhythm had slowed.
‘Do I wake her? Or is this fine?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘If I wake her, she might be upset. If I don’t wake her, she might not grow.’
‘Okay.’
‘Don’t just say okay! What should I do?’
‘Leave her to nap, and then we can talk about names and read the rest of the instructions until she wakes up. It’s the first feed. If we get it wrong now, we can correct it later. I’m sure she’ll be fine.’
This approach to life was a key difference between Lou and me. He’d always been the what’s the worst that could happen type, while I’d always been the type to find out what the worst that could happen was and prepare against it with everything I had.
I realised this situation was going to require a lot more negotiation than I’d planned for. We’d never really argued before and I didn’t have the stamina.
‘I’m going to wake her,’ I said.
‘Don’t.’
‘I want her hunger meter to be full. I think that’s best.’
‘But what about her sleep meter? It’s low too.’
He was right.
‘Fine.’
I slid the bottle out of her lips and put it back on the coffee table next to the feeding chair, watching the viscous liquid wobble back to full again. It would be this, over and over again for weeks, maybe years, I realised. Feeding her only to do it all over again. The need felt like a noose.
I stood up and tried to lay the baby down in the small crib we’d bought for her. As if I’d tasered her, her eyes flung open, and the crying began again. I picked her back up, and she stopped, her eyelids drooping down almost instantly. I shushed and rocked again and tried to put her in the crib. The result was the same.
‘It’s like she only wants to sleep on me.’
‘The manual says that’s normal and that after a few months we can try something called sleep training. Guess you’re just going to have to hold her while she sleeps for now.’
‘You can hold her if you want. I could do the feeds, and you could do the naps. At least at the beginning – I’ve heard they’re short then. That will mean we’re both in the trenches together.’
I held her out, my shoulder tired from the way I’d had her propped in my elbow to feed. Lou stepped back.
‘No, she looks happy on you. I don’t want to wake her.’
I clenched my jaw, taking a deep breath.
‘Okay, then you better get a chair.’
His face was the picture of confusion. ‘What for?’
‘So that you can come sit in here and we can talk about names and read the manual together.’
‘She needs to sleep, Georgia.’
He’d lowered his voice to a whisper.
‘She is asleep, Lou.’ My voice sounded like a hiss. ‘Doesn’t mean we have to stop talking to each other.’
He looked at me as if I’d gone dim, a light switched out or dulled.
‘I’ll bring you some water so you can get comfortable, and we can pick this all up later.’
He walked away then, easy as a breeze through an open summer’s window.
By the time he was back with the water, I’d logged the return on the company site. They said it would take twenty-four hours. Even that felt too long.
