The Dream Is Not Over

The Morning After

Even after three cups of the strongest coffee I have ever made, Lindsey begins to fall asleep at the table. I try like hell to get him up and moving but it's nearly impossible. I'm sure there is something in my new pregnancy book about not lifting anything heavy but I need to get about one hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight onto the couch.

"You're so beautiful, baby." he mumbles in his sleep and I grunt in frustration.

"Wake up, Buckingham!" I poke him in the ribs but he doesn't react. "Wake up! You're too heavy." I pull him off the chair, holding him under his arm pits and drag him around the table and across the floor. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph..." I try to get a better grip on him but it's not happening. I use the last little bit of strength I have to lift the upper half of his body onto my couch, picking his feet up and laying them across the arm. I turn off the tv and take his shoes off, putting them by the door. I hear him snore loudly as I climb the stairs and shut my bedroom door, hoping that alone will be enough sound proofing between me and the man who sounds something like two angry bears putting chain link through a wood chipper. I flop down on the bed and bury myself under my covers. I can still hear him. I cover my head with my pillow and press down, only to realize I might truly suffocate myself in the process. Then who would plan River's wedding? Surely not his father.

Hours later, I am still overwhelmingly tired but nature calls. I sit on the toilet staring at the wall in front of me, a small painting of a woman in a bathtub of wine. I chuckle at the tacky little thing, remembering River got it for me as yet another one of my many Mother's Day gifts over the years. My boys always get me one really silly one, and one spectacular gift each. I get up, flush the toilet and wash my hands, purposely avoiding looking in the mirror. My eyes glide across the counter and over to the hand towel, never once drifting upward. I turn the light off and slip back between my warm covers. I sigh with satisfaction as I find comfort immediately and fall asleep once again.

—-

Light shines through the curtains of my balcony doors and I stretch, sitting up. I'm sore but functional as I climb out of bed to take a shower. The warm water pelts my skin perfectly as I change the settling on my shower head. Oh yeah, that's it! I can feel the knots and tension disappearing, that is until I hear banging downstairs. I roll my eyes, trying to ignore all the ruckus drifting up the stairs. I finish my shower and get out, carefully wrapping a big fluffy towel around myself and securing it with a big claw hair clip. I brush out my wet tangled hair, putting in a light cream styler to make it easier to blow out later. I reach into the medicine cabinet and cleanse and moisturize my face before consulting my make up bag for today's look. I shake my head, hearing things here and there. Halfway through my makeup routine, I put my brush down. Someone could be robbing me blind but since I've been with a bumbling, over dramatic, self absorbed idiot for the past two decades I have learned to live with the noise. Only now is it truly bothering me enough to stop what I'm doing. I put on a robe and hang up the towel, placing the claw clip back in the basket with the others before going downstairs to investigate. I realize a five foot tall pregnant woman in a fluffy pink robe might not scare most people but right now, I've had just about enough.

"Lindsey" I hiss, seeing my half dressed husband opening and shutting cupboards in the kitchen. "What on earth?"

"Aspirin. Where?" he asks simply. He's like a caveman.

"A little hung over, are we?" He nods, clutching his head and his stomach. His misery is still amusing. I take my time locating the bottle of medicine and getting him a glass of water from the tap. "Here" I thrust it toward him and leave the room.

"Stevie!" he says and I turn around.

"What? I'm getting ready." I'm clearly irritated and he looks up. My jaw is set and his eyes grow wide.