Deja Vu by Michal Hartstein Read Free Book Online Page A

wasn’t yet walking, I needed to bring a small blanket for her and spread it on the grass with some toys. I often looked around at the other women. They seemed to genuinely love and enjoy playing with their children; their sincere smiles and hugs were full of love and warmth. It was clear to me that not all of it was real, and that everyone wears a mask away from home, but others’ efforts seemed more natural to me. Other mothers sat together, talking, sharing diaper stories and recipes for toddlers, but I found it hard to fit in. I couldn’t fake interest in the conversation on topics that bored me terribly. I wondered at times whether there were more mothers like me. Although I felt abnormal, I imagined I wasn’t the only mother in the world who found a conversation about breast milk supplements extremely uninteresting. Despite all my attempts to blend in with the other mothers, occasionally my real lack of interest revealed itself in public. One torrid afternoon, I sat on the grass with Nofar near several other mothers I knew from kindergarten. If it hadn’t been so hot, I’d probably have chosen to sit somewhere else, but there was no other shady spot. I spread out my usual blanket and took out the usual toys. One of the mothers admired Nofar’s new dress that my mother had bought for her. I smiled with satisfaction. After a few minutes, I took out a bag of Bamba and gave Nofar one to nibble on happily.
    “How old is she?” one mother asked with a worried look when she saw Nofar holding the yellow snack.
    “A little more than ten months.” I smiled. The other mothers wouldn’t usually talk to me so I was glad for the opportunity.
    “And you’re already giving her Bamba?” another mother asked in surprise.
    “Why not?” I was surprised at the question. “It’s very soft and she’s just sucking it.”
    “It’s a peanut snack!” the first mother almost shouted. “You can’t give that to her before she turns one.”
    “She’s nearly a year old.” I tried to calm things down. To be honest, I had no idea you weren’t supposed to give children under a year peanuts.
    “They didn’t tell you this at the children’s clinic?”
    “No,” I said and smiled. I was ashamed to admit that I’d never been to the children’s clinic. Amir always took her to get the necessary shots, but I decided to pass on the developmental tests. The child seemed well developed and the pediatrician who’d seen her several times didn’t think she had any problems.
    “Either way, it's written in quite a few articles and books.” A third mother jumped in, trying to shame me and my ignorance. “Peanuts are allergenic… you mustn’t expose babies to allergenic foods. It could end in disaster.”
    “I don’t think she's allergic to peanuts.” I continued to smile, but I was burning with anger. I was angry at the audacity of these women who barely know me, yet felt comfortable enough to judge me. Mostly, though, I was angry with myself for not caring enough to read up on toddler foods.
    I often wondered if I was looking for a demanding administrative job in order to realize myself, or rather to find an excuse not to have to take care of my daughter every day.
     
    Across the globe, rumors began to circulate about a deepening economic crisis. Articles about banks closing and firms collapsing were published daily. The crisis began to seep slowly into the Israeli economy and the supply of jobs just dwindled, and with it my dream of a management career withered. The firm I worked for decided to avoid layoffs, despite the severe crisis, and chose to cut all employee wages. I now worked in the same dull, hateful job for lower wages.
    In December of that year, I realized that most of the interns who’d started working at the same time I had were now in various senior positions in accounting and management. Even interns who had received their license a year or more after me had begun to find their place