and she’s she there, everywhere, all the time. the words coming out of her mouth, half formed, not lazy exactly, just too new, struggling. she used to spend a lot of time pointing, one delicate finger shot out in a direction that should have been obvious.
most of the time i think i frustrate her because it should be all so suddenly obvious when it isn’t.
but now words and make believe. she’s into the fairy tale princesses now. i alternate being the Duke from Cinderella, the Huntsman from Snow White and, even Snow White herself. and she plays the witch, or the prince, or as expected Cinderella.
and lately, weddings. she’s married my wife at least seven times a day, and me another handful. she never officiates, but she’ll hold the rabbit figurine that acts as the priest. she likes setting up the stage and then watching, correcting us when we go wrong, but doesn’t mind if ad-lib the scene. as long as it works apparently.
so she’s either going to be a director of some sorts, or just one very bossy individual.
Monthly Archives: February 2007
she says, “6 weeks 4 days…”
and i am ravaged, she clicks around the mouse, right there, toying with it, moving under the screen, along the sonogram’s image. she says it like she’s disappointed, fidgets with her glasses, like she expected more, like we were wasting her time.
“come back again 2 weeks from now…”, frowning, “you know, so we can track the development, before I send you for bloodwork.”
and then it all freezes, like some pause button’s been pressed and my wife sits there with a thin piece cheap of tissue covering her legs, looking at the doctor like she knows as well, how hopeless this all is.
then it starts up again, and the doctor presses another button, snaps off a tongue of a black and white image from the machine, turns to us, grins and sighs, “congratulations…”
and she says something about meeting her in her office after my wife gets dressed and I’m looking at the image of yet one more child that we are hoping for. I know I saw its heart beating this time. I know I saw it as I put my finger on where I believed it to be.
i seem to have written this
in order to forget it. but writing it brings it back. just the thought of it, here on the page, perhaps this too will not turn out well.
she’s reading books on pregnancy and only reads the appendices of failures, of statistical nightmares, the cold hard numbering of it all, cross referencing age with history with circumstance. she digs herself deeper.
our daughter knows nothing of this. she plays with dolls while we debate how informed should we really be.
i compare notes secretely, in the dead of night, i don’t want her to know, i don’t want to know-know (but i have to know, i have to be ready) and i pour over website over website. faqs, blogs, doctors, mid-wives, support groups. i’m getting sucked in: i’m asking her, everyday now, how are you feeling? any cramps? any bleeding? etc, etc.
but during the day i think nothing of it. i think nothing. i play legos with our daughter. we play out Cinderella and Snow White, exchanging roles, 2, 3 times a day. i tie her hair back as she eats, to keep it out of her food. we watch tv, we nap together. and in my dreams, with our little one on my chest, i find some rest, i find some hope, i dare to dream of another one, of some other one, maybe another one.
at least one more, please. at least one more.