Monday, January 31, 2005


I wandered about the house silently mouthing the name we had made up for you. I wondered how your pudgy baby arms would feel around my neck. I hugged myself. I have been doing that a lot lately. And smiling. I unwittingly walk into the room we have painted for you. Swirls from ‘Night Sky’. Yes, we want you to adore the same pictures. Listen to Bhimsen Joshi and Nusrat. We have even decided that you have to hear ‘Ode’ in German and not the crass ‘joyful, joyful’. Then I smile as I look at my image reflected in the glass that protected me from the cold January breeze beating down Council Crest. Portland was beautiful in winter, baby, and daddy will take you skiing on Mount Hood or maybe Rainier. Mommy would be waiting at the Lodge, memorizing Scrabble lists (so she could beat daddy at the game once again), until both would return, so tired from playing in the snow, you would sleep in the car on the way back home. I smile again. The word ‘mommy’ was far cry from the swear-a-sentence Armani clad creative director who could quell arguments with just one raised eyebrow. But I did not mind it. I know I am not cut out for diaper smells, or strewn toys, or baby burps or even bawling babies. I have never ever held a baby in my hands before, never wanted to. But you have changed that already. I have willingly stepped out of my stilettos and silk tights into hush puppies and track pants. I will never buy a baby bag with teddy bears and pink elephants but your diapers would be happy in the black Calvin Klein baby tote, I think.

I frown. Why was the phone ringing so much? What had happened to the answering machine?

Ah… the girls had not given up on me yet. We are going shopping, baby! Vee masi and your momma were going shoe hunting at Nordstrom. Maybe we will check the Rack out as well. The difference between Vee masi and momma was that Vee masi bought shoes when she was unhappy, and momma bought shoes just because she could.

The drive is fun, 108 fm is playing Bad Company again. I must remember to take the chunk of clay rolling about the trunk and dump it at the Community College. Mommy is not allowed to sit at the wheel any more. But when you grow up a bit, I shall teach you all about glazes.

Daddy is going to meet me at Powell’s after I’m done shopping. We’ll have cookies and chai and maybe not resist buying one more baby book, and then come home.

I buy three pairs of flatties. How much Vee and I laugh at the change. But I cannot resist that sexy two-toned slingback, so I give in. Maybe I can wear them after you are born…

Powell’s is so crowded I cannot find your daddy. My feet ache, my back aches and I am in the Blue Room, leaning against the bookshelf. Where is your daddy? Suddenly everything seems to recede. Thank god your Daddy materializes. What is he looking at me like that for? Why are so many crowding me? Go away all you people. I am just dazed a bit from shopping, that’s all.

I tell you baby, your daddy is going drive me crazy with his concern. He has left his car in the parking lot and hey he’s driving me to St.Vincents’. Maybe I should just lean back and close my eyes. Why is my back aching so much?

He’s talking to Doctor Arvind on the car phone, does not want to listen to me. I am going to be fine, let’s just go home. Don’t crash the gears; it’s a sports car sweetie, not your Montero.

St.Vincents is cold. My head hurts. The stupid nurse insists I sit on the wheelchair. Really! I am pregnant, not ill. But I feel so tired. I do not wish to argue any more. I feel silly being wheeled around like that. And will someone listen to me? The wheelchair is wet! It’s making my clothes wet. See hon, touch this, it’s wet, isn’t it? Why am I am feeling so tired? Someone will please someone get me off the wet chair? Why are you shouting my name? And why is your hand bloodied? Hell! They made me sit down on a bloodied chair! My white Gap pants will never be the same! Oh Doctor A, there you are! Sorry about all this fuss. What? Just that my back hurts like hell. Huh? Too late? What are we late for?

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