The Dream Is Not Over

Domesticity

August 20th. Two months after my son's wedding and a week until my due date. I emit a strange breathy groan as I mark a big X through the 19th, the pen cap pinched securely between my teeth. Lindsey kisses my cheek, removing the lid from my mouth and sliding the pen from my hand. He replaces the cap and puts it in the cup with the others on the credenza.

"Stop that," he says.

"Stop what?" I ask and he smirks at me, smoothing a hand over my hair, playing with a natural wave.

"Torturing yourself! The baby will come when she comes."

"I'm not torturing myself, and I know I need to be patient. You keep telling me that."

"But..." he offers, smug as ever, and I huff.

"But the calendar is mocking me!" I exclaim and he chuckles. "Stop laughing at me." I point my finger at him, my face stern and he holds up his hands.

"I'm sorry, but you're just so damn cute." He leans in for a kiss on the lips and I welcome it. His fingers lace with mine and I feel myself relaxing just a little. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired, and if one more person asks me how I'm feeling, I swear I will scream!"

"I'm sorry, I won't ask again."

"No, no, it's not you. It's everyone else. I'm either touched when I don't want to be touched or asked the same asinine questions over and over. Since when did pregnant women become public property?"

"I don't know, it's news to me." I sigh, leaning against the wall that has that stupid calendar nailed to it. "This is all going to be over soon then you will get more asinine questions." He hikes up his voice to an annoyingly high pitch. "'Is this your baby?'," he asks and I roll my eyes.

"No, I ordered her from a catalogue on credit. The postman dropped her off."

Lindsey laughs. "That's a good answer, Steph."

"Now you're mocking me!"

"I am not." He stands before me, a sympathetic look on his handsome face. "I just want you to be happy."

"Then evict your daughter," I tell him seriously. This baby is getting big. I have no room left for organs let alone a meal. All of the joys of pregnancy are finally fading and the only thing I have to look forward to is meeting her. It surely isn't how many trips I make to the bathroom per night.

"Can't, let the turkey cook just a little bit longer." He rubs my belly and I sigh for the millionth time, my shoulders slumping. "Honey, I know you've taken about as much as you can bear and you're at the end of your rope. Your patience is wearing thin. You have all these aches and pains that have been killer on your comfort and let's not even start on your sleep because I noticed that's in short supply as well." I nod. "It's going to be over soon. I've never heard of anyone being pregnant forever." He smiles at me, rubbing my cheek and I manage a small one for him.

"That's true."

"How about some breakfast?" he asks and I frown. "What, you're not hungry?"

"There's no room!"

"We can sit here for as long as you need. Take it slow and try to eat as much as you can. You need your strength."

"What strength?" I ask, plopping down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

"Poor thing!" He bends slightly to look me in the eyes. His lower lip puckers and the sympathetic look on his face is enough to make me want to strangle him. He seems to get the hint, snapping back up to full height and starting on a simple breakfast. "How about eggs, bacon and toast?"