Monday, March 19, 2012

Minus Two

He rides his red bike with his blue helmet.

I push the baby in the stroller.

We rush.  We are late.  It makes no sense.

They Ohh and Ahh at the baby.  I give kisses goodbye.  Tell him I'll see him in a couple hours.

I walk the stroller all by my lonesome.  Nobody talks to me.

It feels like a Florida morning.  Except it's Minnesota.  In March.  I'm already sweating.

I think about Brian.  Thousands of miles away and already well into his afternoon as I'm just beginning my morning.

I think about Lucy.  I feel guilty.  It's so much easier when she's at Camp Nana.  But I think about her silky hair and her too-big cheeks, her sassy voice and her pink lips.  And of course, I miss her.

I think maybe it's me and not her.  Maybe I'm the one that's not so great with a two-and-a-half-going-on-three-year-old.  Five-year-olds and babies are easy peasy for me.  It's those toddlers that draw these premature lines in my forehead.

The baby and I walk to the tailor to hem my new jeans.  I wish I could walk to the coffee shop.  But I brought the wrong shoes.  I'm already starting to get a blister behind my heel.

The warm wind blows.  The baby coos.  I remember days when William was my one and only.  It was lovely.  And carefree.  And easy. So easy.

I don't regret my three-ring circus of a life now.  No.  But I look back on my one-child life with envy.

We walk back home.  My blister is really getting raw now.

I make some phone calls.  We need to trim some trees.  I need to call our clinic.  Again.  I put the baby down for a nap.  I register the kids for summer swimming lessons.  I think about registering William for a day camp.  Then I decide not to.  I want to keep him here.  Hold on to summer for as long as I can. Before he leaves my nest for Kindergarten in the Fall.

My bed is unmade.  The shades are still drawn.  Clothes lie in pile on the floor.  I think about making coffee.

The house is quiet.  So quiet.  Tick tock.

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