We were out late last night. We got an invitation to dinner from our neighbours who, as it turns out, are a really nice couple to hang out with. We had a really great time. When you reach a certain age it becomes rare to find new people to tell all your old stories to, and we all took full advantage of the fresh audience last night. As a result, we ended up staying at their house until almost 1:00am. For those under 30 this might seem early, but to four 30 somethings it was quite a feat. The yawns started at about 11:30pm, but we staved off the good-byes until 12:45am.
As a result, my beloved and I are happily drowsy today. He actually just crashed an hour ago. I've been waiting for it all day (I've said before, if it were legal to marry a cookie I wouldn't have waited 29 years to find my beloved - with him it's naps. He loves them, I swear, almost as much as me).
I saw the nap approaching. When you really know someone, you can see all their signs. I know when I've ticked him off, I know when he's about to tell me a funny story, I know when he needs a hug and I know when he's dangerously close to nodding off on the couch. He'd assumed the napping position. He was on his back with a pillow on his head and his hands tucked up under his chin. I started laughing and told him I knew he was on the verge of dozing off.
Then I remembered.
Because mine was a high-risk pregnancy I had a lot of ultrasounds. I loved them. There's nothing in the world like catching those beautiful, albeit fleeting, glimpses of your child before he's born, all tucked up safe and sound. Until I saw my beloved this afternoon I'd forgotten that one of those glimpses was of Thomas with his hand tucked up underneath his chin, just like his Daddy. I remember feeling my body flood with love for both my men when I saw Thomas doing something I've seen his Daddy do a million times.
I was always so preoccupied with telling my beloved all the nitty gritty details of the appointments that he couldn't make it to that I guess I forgot to tell him that Thomas had already mastered his Daddy's napping style. So I told him today. I think we both wanted to cry, but we smiled instead. We don't have many memories of our son and I think maybe we both wanted to share one without showing the pain that always comes with them.
I don't care that the happiness was a little bit of a lie, it still felt good to act like normal parents for one brief moment and smile at our son.
1 comment:
I remember when I went to see my dad when he was dying, and his wife made a joke about how even while he was wasting away with cancer the, ahem, 'sturdy' legs he passed on to me were still the most well-muscled part of his body. And then while I was sitting with him, watching him go in and out of the morphine-coma I noticed that he often slept with one arm flung above his head, just like I do. It is odd what we receive, or pass on, but reassuring too, even in death.
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