Is that I haven’t left my bedroom since January.
The family room reminds me too much of Q and our sitting with our laptops open in front of the TV doing much of nothing else. We’d sit there and yell at the kids and argue about something stupid I’d said. Good times. Once he was gone, I spent a few days in bed. Then maybe those few days turned into a few weeks. And, well, by that time, it was like I was on bedrest for the remainder of my pregnancy. And, finally, my skin moulded to the sheets and the paramedics had to dig thread fibers from the backs of my thighs before transporting me to labor & delivery.
The baby co-sleeps with me; his crib is overfilled with clean laundry and once-worn dry cleaning. He rests quite comfortably with his widdle feet flat against my thighs as I am curled around him. Time for a bottle? I reach behind me to the night stand and grab the 6 oz of formula prepared before he and I took it on in for the night. He goes back to sleep, I go back to sleep. It’s a good arrangement.
The older kids have realized that in my room is where I live. I get lots of visits; they no longer wait around in the den for me to emerge. So I get a wiggly 7-year-old doing magic tricks and tossing foodie experiments onto my blankets. My teenager has taken to surfing the Internet from bed next to me before her own bedtime. I eat here. I chat here. I’ve made my life here.
Will I ever leave? Dunno. It’s like if I make a new life outside my room, I’m admitting that my old life has come to an end. I keep waiting for the back door to open and for Q to walk into our bedroom gulping a Route 44 Dr Pepper. In my dreams, he is here. If I get out of bed and he never comes, it’s just me again. Starting over.
Last week, I began the process of buying a house…
Oh honey. I send love and light and more love.
That is so sad and I know this because I have been there a couple of times in my life. I gotta go lie down just thinking about it.
Voix, are you saying I should open my curtains? Interesting concept…
Lala, I lay down just thinking about changing the channel, so I hear ya. Bed. Nice.
You know I used to be an all-natural hippie, and I’ve fully converted to the “Better Living Through Chemistry” department. That is to say, you can get a long way with your OB asking for happy pills if you want ‘em. It’s a small window, the ability to get those pills postpartum, so I mention it with all due urgency.
I also feel like a total oblivious asshole because I didn’t know that Q wasn’t walking in your door. All this must have gone down while I was having a child removed from my abdomen. I’m so sorry to hear about this, dude. DUDE.