Cheat Sheets

Epilogue

Epilogue:

“Where’s that Damn-son of mine?”

Smiling, I turn around and roll my eyes at my husband as he crosses the kitchen, clomping towards our son – where he’s sat happily at my feet playing cars –  and swinging the giggling little boy up into his embrace where he then precedes to rain munches all over our child.

Damson grins toothily up at his father and pushes his father’s gobbling mouth away. “Mama, daddy swored!”  Named for the wine that led to his existence, Damson is wise beyond his four years of age. And although he was the result of a drunken night between Braeden and I that fateful night of high school prom, I can’t say I regret any moment of my son’s creation. My little boy is a gift to me, and life without him would be a miserable one indeed.

“He’s right Brae, five dollars in the pot.” I inform my husband whilst sprinkling the last layer of cheese on top of the lasagne ready to be cooked for dinner.

Braeden moodily strides for the swear pot – which is actually a captain America cookie jar with the words ‘I said an oopsie’ labelled on the front – and shoves a five in before bouncing Damson higher on his hip and sticking his tongue out at me. “There. Happy now? I think we’ve got enough in there for one killer pool…”

Before he can elaborate, I sweep in and give the heavy pot a shake. “Or… We’ve got one sweet college fund for Damson.”

This is where Braeden snorts “College. Who needs college?”

I send my husband a sardonic look. He better hope he’s joking. I do not want my son joining the forces like his father. Although a noble profession, I really don’t like the idea of my baby living in dangerous places like Braeden. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t be prouder of my husband. But I know he only signed up because with me being pregnant he couldn’t exactly live the college dream; he had to make a wage somehow whilst being taught the skills of a trade for later life. The military seemed like the best idea, and after much discussion and debating he signed up for service as an avionics technician.

We don’t really discuss it, but I know that Braeden kicks himself for missing out on his college years for something as stupid as knocking me up. He was planning on going to one of the big four on a sports scholarship for MMA to study Psychology. That obviously flew out the window the moment I brandished the pregnancy stick that told us our fates. At eighteen we’d both taken a long hard gulp and sat down to talk about the future.

After escaping a beating from my dad, Braeden put a ring on my finger into my fourth month of pregnancy and we were married at the registers office by my fifth. We were moved to a military training base where I gave birth to Damson Jacob Reigns and Braeden spent the first year and a half of Damson’s life learning and training.

Shortly after Damson’s twentieth month, we got our own little house near to the training grounds and Braeden was signed up for an eighteen month stint in Afghanistan.

It was hard initially to raise a toddler literally all by myself. It was just me to cope with the long nights and complaints about teething, it was me who had to budget and juggle bills for that long while. It was me who went to bed crying with loneliness and despair, wanting my husband’s arms, his lips, his touch. Anything would have sufficed. The half hour talks every day on Skype weren’t enough, especially when I was trying to get Damson to bond with his father via a weak internet connection. Things were brutal for a long while.

But then he came home to us and harmony was restored. That night after we’d picked him up from the airport and reunited, I fell into bed with my husband. Our hands lovingly exploring and caressing and learning one another all over again. Time apart hadn’t weakened our connection any less as we adoringly made love until I was sore in more places than I wanted to admit and Braeden was utterly spent.