replay

I normally don’t drive to work since I am a bus rider, but Thursday I did, so I could leave early and be home quickly to relieve Steve from sick-Audrey tending. Wind tossed my hair every which way when I walked out on to the streets of Belltown, and as I drove home, waves beating against the 520 bridge splashed water against the Durango. After I got into the apartment, Steve, Audrey and I stood on the patio watching the trees sway with the gusts and branches poke at the window of the spare room.

When I lay Audrey down for her nap, I decided to lie down on the couch and take advantage of my afternoon off by getting a little shuteye myself.

And the wind blew in a great snow. Gusts of white powder built up against the building. I ran into Audrey’s room and it was filled with snow. I grabbed her out of bed, and she was shivering from the cold. I carried her to my room and lay her down in my bed, and I couldn’t figure out where Steve had gone. Frantic that he had left me, I ran into Oliver’s room, relieved to see it wasn’t filled with snow, and I held him close to me and took him to my room. Steve still wasn’t there but his wallet was on the bed. He wouldn’t leave without his wallet.

And the wind blew in a great snow. Gusts of white powder built up against the building. I ran into Audrey’s room and it was filled with snow. I grabbed her out of bed, and she was shivering from the cold. I carried her to my room and lay her down in my bed, and I couldn’t figure out where Steve had gone. Frantic that he had left me, I ran into Oliver’s room, relieved to see it wasn’t filled with snow, and I held him close to me and took him to my room. Steve still wasn’t there but his wallet was on the bed. He wouldn’t leave without his wallet.

And the wind blew in a great snow. Gusts of white powder built up against the building. I ran into Audrey’s room and it was filled with snow. I grabbed her out of bed, and she was shivering from the cold. I carried her to my room and lay her down in my bed, and I couldn’t figure out where Steve had gone. Frantic that he had left me, I ran into Oliver’s room, relieved to see it wasn’t filled with snow, and I held him close to me and took him to my room. Steve still wasn’t there but his wallet was on the bed. He wouldn’t leave without his wallet.

I jolted awake. The dream had repeated again and again. I could still feel Oliver in my arms, smell his little baby smell. I couldn’t understand why every dream I have of him, he’s always alive. Shivering, I called Steve. My dream was so eerie, so frightening, so preferable to the real world if only because it is a world wherein Oliver lives and breathes. I don’t take naps. The rest of the day the dream played again and again in my brain as I analyzed every moment, every feeling.

My desire to have a baby has been so strong lately, almost unbearably strong. I’m sure it has to do with a subconscious desire to suppress the pain of February. My friend Lee had her baby on February 5, but I haven’t been able to call her to congratulate her yet. I haven’t been able to face it, haven’t been able to speak to her, visit her. In all honesty I was waiting for the two week mark, because I needed to see her baby make it more than 12 days, but now that she did, I still can’t call. I’m jealous. I want to be the one who just had a baby. I want to sit on an inflatable pillow because I can’t sit down. I want to have cracked nipples and a puffy belly. It’s not the right time. And that sucks. Planning sucks. If it happened we’d make it work, but right now isn’t the right time if we’re going to plan. So like I said, planning sucks.

Maybe I’ll call my friend tomorrow. Maybe seeing her baby, her beautiful baby girl will give me the right dose of baby to tide me over. Maybe changing a diaper will tide me over or maybe it will do nothing more than feed the fire.

This sucks.

I’ve spent the weekend attached to my laptop, typing and working trying to fix one of the things that are making me miserable. It’s one of those projects that makes all of your insecurities rise to the surface and your love for yourself diminish as you begin to doubt all of your talents and abilities. I pray to God that I am successful.

I discovered that I’m kind of an ogre. And really, I’m not all that funny. I’m the depressing, not funny one. Sure, I can write. I can string a series of words together and make them slide down your gullet, but they are not going to make you laugh. You are much more likely to shed a tear than crack a smile. I’m that not funny person. I’m the one that should something I say actually make someone laugh, I am going to find a way to work that joke into at least four other conversations. I’m the kind of girl that has her comeback two hours later or sometimes never. When I graduated from high school, I still had braces, and I’d had a baby tooth removed so they could pull down the adult, but it was taking FOREVER, so I was forced to go to First Week at Myrtle Beach, SC with metal and a hole in my mouth. Sitting trying to be ultra cool in my friend’s red Jeep Wrangler, a few guys walked up to us, and while chatting up the “fine” guy, he all of the sudden said, “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.” I just froze and waited for him to walk away. I still can’t think of a “yo’ mama.” I guess the problem is my sense of humor. I can’t find humor in some of the things I am going through, and they are the things that most compel me to sit at this laptop and write for my blog. So I feel sorry, both for the readers of my blog whom I reduce to tears and for myself, because I’ll never be that hilarious blogger. I just don’t want to depress everyone away from me.

And lastly can I just say STOP! REALLY. I know you’re never going to see these words but where are the people who love you? You look horrible, not that looks are the most important thing, but could you at least put on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, cause, Honey, that is not a bikini bod you’re sporting. Oh and the hair! Demi Moore, sure, Natalie Portman, absolutely, you? Not so much. What were you thinking? And doing it yourself? You looked stoned, out of your mind. And all I can think of are those two beautiful boys. Did you know that you were once named the worst celebrity pet owner? They said it was because you were seen with them everywhere when it was cool to have dogs as accessories, and when the fad died, so did your poochie love. I now name you the worst celebrity mother. You were all about having kids when they made you a happy family, but when your marriage died, so did your dreams of the Brady Bunch. You realized that you didn’t want to be a twenty-something stay-at-home mom, you’re single, you’re rich, you’ll stay out all night and party if you want to. Why can’t anyone stop you? What is your problem? Why the downward spiral? Why are people like you blessed with beautiful, healthy children when the last thing you could ever do is appreciate that blessing? That more than anything in the world is the question I want answered.