We are walking to the school, she in her Shearling jacket, me in my wool coat. She is bubbly, bright, excited. After school, we are going to do her homework together, then curl up and watch movies and sip hot cocoa. He will join us when he is done with his meeting, and we will sit there, watching movies until dinner time, when we will go to the dinner table and have dinner together as a family, before I give her a bath. She will tell me to “take it easy bending down, Mommy…you might hurt the baby…” She loves her little brother or sister, the one she’s always wanted…though we won’t know what it is until it is born. That night, I will tuck her in, after having tied her head and wrapped her up all tight so she is safe and warm. He will sneak in and kiss her good night all over her face, making her giggle. She loves him like he were her natural born father. He loves her like she was his natural born child. I kiss her good night as well, and we quietly sneak out the room as she begins to doze off. He will tell me to take my time down the stairs, his hand on my protruding belly, the skin around my ring beginning to swell from the water weight. I retreat to my home office, he to his, as he balances his books and I mine. I tune everything out and type and work to the beat of tiny baby flutters, flutters that I haven’t felt since 2002. The miracle of life. He stops me from working late with his kiss, gentle touches on the nape of my neck. He makes love to me slow and gentle, careful not to cause any undue movement to our unborn child. We doze off in each other’s arms afterward. In the morning, we wake up early and talk as we prepare to start our day in our life together – he, I, and mine.
I wake up in the morning, usually pretty tired. It’s more of a nap than actual sleep. I reluctantly drag myself out of the comfort of my nap and prepare to start my day. The munchkin hates waking up, too. Many mornings, I find that she has found her way back into my bed, her lanky limbs splayed across me, even after I have put her back into her bed earlier on in the night. Sometimes this causes us to fall behind five to ten minutes in our schedule – the comfort of the bed calls to us, even when the alarm has gone off twice. That five to ten minute lag, though, can be the difference between catching the bus and missing it. So we don’t let that happen very often. I bathe her, dry her off, and direct her toward her clothes, so that I can get myself showered and into my sweats. I will walk anywhere, so I use the time after I drop her off to power walk through half of my neighborhood. We grab breakfast-to-go…sometimes mini pancakes or French toast sticks, made in advance and in a Baggie, sometimes Fruity Cheerios in a portable cup. We head out the door at the exact same time every day: 7:02 am. Never earlier, never later. We spend our 20 minute walk singing and dancing down the block, sometimes pretending that we are fishing for baby sharks, sometimes talking about the munchkin’s baby years. She likes hearing about her life as a baby. Sometimes this brings up bittersweet memories of her godmother – my friend who passed – and sometimes, she needs a four block hug. I oblige her. I never let her see me sad, though it is moments like this when she breaks my heart. I get her on her bus in the morning and I kiss her good bye and she pulls off, waving to me as the bus turns the corner and takes her to school – and all I can think of is that is my baby, swallowed up on that big yellow bus. It hits me sometimes – someday, her world will not revolve around me. Someday, she will not want to talk to me about everything. Someday, some little boy will break her heart as mine has been before, and I will be powerless to do anything but hug her and tell her that someday, she will be grateful for this heartbreak, even as I myself am not so sure that I am okay with the tug of pain and melancholy that every now and again threatens to break my stride. As I have these moments, as I walk down the streets of my neighborhood, alone not just in name but in my thoughts as well, I ponder who I have to go over my feelings with, who I have to go back and forth with, who supports my dreams when I’m not sure I believe anymore…whose heartbeat will match mine whether we are in the same room or not. Sometimes, it’s okay to know that my day for that has come. Today is not one of those days. Today is one of those “have I made the right choices?” days, one of those days that everyone has but never likes to admit that they have: the day that they regret the life changing decision(s) that they made. The day that they wonder, “what if?” The day that you don’t feel like talking to anyone because it is not just anyone you want to talk to – it is that day that you don’t want to hear anything about things being okay or not coveting what you don’t have because you just feel in a negative space and you just want to let that rock for a minute, dammit. It is the day that I feel the most alone – the day that I envy everyone lucky enough to have what I wish I did – a partner.
This…is my fantasy versus my reality.
Eventually, I will feel better and the negative energy will subside…and I will keep moving…as I always do.
Today…is not that day. Probably tomorrow.
