They say some women never recover from post-partum blues. They say if you eat your placenta you will never get post-partum blues. They say the hormones in the placenta will replace the hormones you lose after childbirth. They say you can fry it with onions and garlic. That it tastes like liver. They say if you bury the placenta under a banana tree, the child will be bound to that place for life.

They say reading to a child from birth is good. They say speaking in multiple languages is good. They say teaching the child to swim is good. They say leaving the child to cry is good. They say sleep training is hard, but it’s good. They say you have to be cruel to be kind. They say that the child will learn to sleep, will learn to sleep. The child will learn to sleep, in time. They say you need to trust yourself. That a mother knows. That a mother knows.

That a mother knows best.

Sumi called sobbing and said, I’ve had a miscarriage, the baby is gone.

I was silent for a long while.

Are you there? she asked.

Yeah, I said. I am so sorry, Sumi. How? What happened?

Doctor said there was no heartbeat.

You’ll get pregnant again. It happens a lot.

Yeah, she sniffled. I guess.

You want to come over? Want to talk about it?

No, I…just need to be alone right now.

Is Fairman around?

Yeah. We went to the doctor together.

Okay, babes. I’m here if you need me.

Bye.

I stared at the dead baby lizard on the floor. It had leapt at me when I opened the cabinet under the sink. I hated lizards and had recoiled in fright while dropping the pot I was carrying. The baby lizard didn’t have a chance. I felt terrible. I stared at its unblinking eyes, its short stubby tail, its tiny pink torso. I picked it up with a kitchen towel and winced as I felt its softness. I flushed it down the toilet and saw it swirl away. It was gone. Forever. Just like Sumi’s baby. A little black dot in her belly, never to see the world, never to be born, never to be loved, never to be named.

Alba padded into the kitchen.

Mama, look! she said and held up a piece of paper with some squiggles. Look!

What is that? I asked.

Friends, mama.

Really? But… I kept quiet. The piece of paper had lines and circles, layered on top of each other. It looked nothing like people, or friends. Well done, darling. I hugged her. Her curls had grown and a haircut was due, but I had been too tired to get around to it. She was eating well, more than ever and had put on a kilo in the last month. She smelled of milk and oranges. Her little face beamed with joy, and she hugged me back and planted a wet kiss on my cheek.