November | 2013 | Scéne á faire

I’m failing every day, according to me. I wake up each morning after being kissed in the dark as Aaron leaves to work another day. I open my eyes and stare over at my preferred three-year-old hoodlum, who, during these moments most resembles the heart of God (this is biblical, hardly blasphemous). I experience surges of calm, joy, and gratefulness. And each of these emotions comes accompanied by various adjectives, slanting one way or more every time. I am at peace. I am transformed. We are choosing life together as lovers and friends. I’m thinking, coyly and committedly, our love should end up like the walnut seed ingrown and encased by the tree itself, certainly possible and beautifully remarkable.

And then I think about sitting up and pressing into the day. It is at precisely this moment when the non-option of burrowing back down into the blankets and contriving slow movements for the rest of the day becomes my most coveted objective. It is the best and the only. Raines Wilder opens his eyes, tackles me, and/or tells me he’s hungry. So it begins. See, I’ve been pregnant now for four months. We’d talked about more babies last year and then again this year, and then we got married in July. Three weeks after the wedding it worked. And then about six weeks after that my head exploded. I won’t go into details or pour out the grease of pregnancy here, but incubating my own precious parasite this time around has brought me back to Mexican amoeba days, exacerbated times 100 and still going. I dropped out socially, trying to figure out the best way to pour my kid cereal and lay down on the kitchen floor simultaneously. Sometimes I would try to leave, get us strapped in the car (me, Raines Wilder, 3–7 sticks, and some bungee cords), and then we’d end up unloading back into the house ten minutes later. I am frustrated and grateful all the time. It’s getting better, with larger gulps of clarity and only the occasional hot flash / chill / freaked-out sensation.

And now the freedom to take joy in this baby. I can anticipate our future with happiness and a solitude that I haven’t had before. I was packing my things in giant tupperware and coming up with escape plans during my pregnancy with Raines Wilder. I felt cornered by my own decisions and gripping blame like a sloppy climber. This is at least eight curse words better. I love my family. I’m still ungiddy about those weird pregnancy notifications telling me that my kid now has webbed fingers or is the length of asparagus. Hm. This does not mean I don’t love this life growing inside me. Oh, I do.

Through these past few months of ick, I have experienced unwavering gratefulness. I have understanding friends, loving family members, animals, and one galvanizing hell of a lover. Oh yeah, when I get really happy these days my face fills with tears. This shit is real, and I love looking into our days ahead and living in our present.