Johanna
When you live in a house with a woman who is 9 months pregnant, the thought that you may actually get some sleep isn't one that you carry with you. It's more like the loose change in your pocket that you might have the chance to use but are more likely to lose it or simply toss it aside. I'm not implying that I would like to toss my wife and unborn child aside but simply implying that I haven't truly slept in days.
I've given up my nice comfortable side of the bed in lieu of a body pillow that she can wrap herself around in order to aleve some the weight that the baby that presses down on her pelvis. He's apparently a little night owl that kicks her more regularly in the evenings which is no surprise since no child of mine would ever be a morning person. On the occasions when I am lucky enough to be able to share a bed with her, it's rather enjoyable. Sometimes I can actually see the outline of a little foot when it pushes her from the inside trying desperately to escape his cramped quarters and it all feels so real... everything from the little taps to the violent punches while I'd sing soft lullabies in French that I'd remembered my dad sang to me when we'd gather around our piano on the nights he would let us stay up all night and tap charasmatically on the keys as the rest of the world slept. I wish I'd held on to those memories better. I hardly remember anything of my father.
I'm just lucky that we can still laugh, no matter how uncomfortable Johanna is. The first morning that we were back, we found ourselves laughing in the pool just before the sun rose when the sky was still a mix of sherbert shades of orange and pink stretched along the horizon. The swim was refreshing even as Johanna splashed water in my face and blamed it on our son. The water got warmer and made us want to swim longer, until our fingers resembled raisins painted with a white chlorine type residue. I swam up to Johanna and pleaded with her to get out and have an early breakfast with me, kissing her bleached lips gently enough that she might be compelled to follow me but instead she stood there, half floating and standing in water that rose over her breasts and rippled around her in tiny waves. She told me that the feeling of weightlessness made her feel beautiful again and she'd wished she could stay in there forever.
And maybe we'd always have that moment, blanketed with the crisp dawn while we laughed in my pool, feeding on a breakfast of passionate kisses that tasted more fresh than anything that would have been served to us. The two of us will soon be three.
I've given up my nice comfortable side of the bed in lieu of a body pillow that she can wrap herself around in order to aleve some the weight that the baby that presses down on her pelvis. He's apparently a little night owl that kicks her more regularly in the evenings which is no surprise since no child of mine would ever be a morning person. On the occasions when I am lucky enough to be able to share a bed with her, it's rather enjoyable. Sometimes I can actually see the outline of a little foot when it pushes her from the inside trying desperately to escape his cramped quarters and it all feels so real... everything from the little taps to the violent punches while I'd sing soft lullabies in French that I'd remembered my dad sang to me when we'd gather around our piano on the nights he would let us stay up all night and tap charasmatically on the keys as the rest of the world slept. I wish I'd held on to those memories better. I hardly remember anything of my father.
I'm just lucky that we can still laugh, no matter how uncomfortable Johanna is. The first morning that we were back, we found ourselves laughing in the pool just before the sun rose when the sky was still a mix of sherbert shades of orange and pink stretched along the horizon. The swim was refreshing even as Johanna splashed water in my face and blamed it on our son. The water got warmer and made us want to swim longer, until our fingers resembled raisins painted with a white chlorine type residue. I swam up to Johanna and pleaded with her to get out and have an early breakfast with me, kissing her bleached lips gently enough that she might be compelled to follow me but instead she stood there, half floating and standing in water that rose over her breasts and rippled around her in tiny waves. She told me that the feeling of weightlessness made her feel beautiful again and she'd wished she could stay in there forever.
And maybe we'd always have that moment, blanketed with the crisp dawn while we laughed in my pool, feeding on a breakfast of passionate kisses that tasted more fresh than anything that would have been served to us. The two of us will soon be three.