To the Point of Shatter

1. Abby

        I roll over and eye the glowing face of the digital clock on my bedside table. It reads 4:30am. Dang it. I have to get up in an hour for work but know that I'll never fall back to sleep with that kind of pressure. I sigh and try to settle onto my back but am jarred by a kick to my hip. A little kick from a little foot. Knowingly, I reach behind me and take hold of a leg and ease it back. Looking, I see Ava blissfully asleep between Aiden and I. Again. Her blonde hair is mussed around her face, her thumb screwed securely in her rosebud mouth, her Dora pajamas hiked up around her torso.

        More nights than not she ends up here, cuddled between her daddy and I. Sometimes it was nice having my whole family in our big bed together. This morning it is a nuisance because what I want to do is slide over and cuddle with my husband without obstacle.

        No dice.

        I ease out of bed, trying not to wake them. The fan I have for it's white noise whirs soothingly. I tuck the blanket around Ava's peaceful form and glance at Aiden. He sleeps like the dead, flat on his back, one arm tossed over his head, lips a little parted, boxers and no shirt. I watch the easy rise and fall of his chest in the glow of the LED clock. Just enough chest hair. I smile to myself. He is a blatantly handsome man with lots of dark, wavy hair, not long but still managing to be unruly, and ice blue eyes. A wicked smile, a quick laugh, a mischievous sense of humor. Plus, he is an outstanding father. He could build forts and glue construction paper and wipe Ava's little butt all day, yet still bring me to my knees with one kiss when I get home at night.

        Lucky girl, me.

        I pad around the enormous bed, get my robe blindly from the hook on the back of our bathroom door, and tiptoe out of the room. I shut the door behind me with a soft click. Snowy, our white fat cat appears at the top of the stairs and meows, doing a quick figure-8 around my ankles, then races ahead of me down the steps. I follow, heading for the kitchen and my first cup of coffee. I let her out of the back door onto the patio and she bounds off into the darkness. After starting the coffee maker, I wander through the house's first floor absentmindedly straightening up the magazines on the coffee table, the Duplo Legos on the hearth. The fireplace is a nod to the North, where we're from. It works, but here in Florida, it doesn't get much use. In Pittsburgh, we used the fireplace all the time. When I got the job I have now and Aiden and I moved South with newborn Ava in tow, we specifically searched for a house that reminded us of home: two stories, a big kitchen, a front porch, a fireplace. It was hard to find one that fit the bill. The development we finally moved into has this type of house and thought the yard is negligible, there is a pool- a serious luxury for us Northerners. We were sold.

        A wash of headlights across the windows of the living room at the front of the house catches my eye. I peek between the vertical blinds- the same kind that seem to be in every house I've ever seen down here- and look onto the street. Across the street, a moving van slowly pulls into the driveway. I watch then as two men hop out and address a woman who stands next to a sporty silver car. She speaks to them briefly, then dangles a bunch of keys in front of them. They follow her to the garage door, which she lifts after unlocking it.

        I hope it's a family with a child Ava's age. The house had been on the market for almost a year since the last couple were foreclosed upon. When the sold sign appeared a couple of weeks ago, Aiden and I contemplated what we'd like in new neighbors. A playmate for Ava, a friend for me, a fishing buddy for Aiden. There are lots of kids in our neighborhood, but most are school aged. We had yet to find a preschooler that was home during the day. Not many in our area can afford not to work. Most homes hold parents, both with jobs, who spend their weekends shuttling their kids to practices and sporting events. Aiden stays with Ava while I work full time outside of home. Neither of us wanted to put Ava in daycare- we desperately want her raised by us, though we certainly don't judge those that have no other options. He is an author who can work at home while she plays or naps and is able to spend time with her when she needs him. He has published three novels and dozens of magazine articles. He is presently working on novel number four and is steadily employed by Parents magazine writing a monthly column entitled "Dad's Eye View". Meanwhile, I am a nurse manager for our area hospice, a job that is both humbling and heartbreaking. I work 7am-4pm and am on call once a month on evenings and weekends. It's a life that works for us.