It starts. As soon as the morning is here – the sickness. That twirling in my stomach & itching in my throat. I’m up, the baby is crying out & I go to him & try to soothe him. I fail & he whimpers. I crawl back into bed but it’s too late; it has begun & won’t leave me until sleep comes tonight. I think of all the things I wanted to accomplish today that, now, are made harder by this thunder cloud in my belly. How much slower & harder it will be. How, with my husband gone, managing life is a struggle & grows more tiresome everyday.
Quitting is not an option.
I have never quit. I have only ever left things undone, always expecting to get back to them one day. Even people. I start to think about how many people have quit me, instead, & suddenly the thunder roars ever louder.
I try to put that out of my mind & I listen to the traffic go by.
I like hearing the cars on the Thiele Highway in the small hours. You know the time when it’s not quite night & not quite morning. I think of them all as going on a fantastic journey somewhere. Their cars laden with suitcases, jackets, snacks & newly made playlists for the journey. All of these travellers wide awake with the excitement of the getaway in the fresh air. If I think of them that way & the noise of the rubber beating the bitumen & the endless engine rumble it doesn’t aggravate me. It soothes me.
These are two of my favourite photos of The Doors. I first saw these photos when I was about 10 years old & I have never stopped wondering what they were thinking about… or what happened to that amazing carpet; to me it looked like the veins on an arm & they were all coming out of Jim Morrison. It’s possible these photos are the reason I became obsessed with the veins in my own arms & spent years carving them up, who knows, perhaps I was looking for a Door.
“All 7 & we’ll watch them fall They stand in the way of love & we will smoke them all With an intellect & a savoir-faire No one in the whole universe Will ever compare I am yours now & u are mine & together we’ll love through All space & time, so don’t cry One day all 7 will die”
It’s 5:32am & my little boy is stirring from a night of quiet dreams. My stomach flutters each time his sweet voice comes through the monitor. I lie here listening & hoping he returns to his peaceful mind; for a few more hours, at least.
Nothing makes me happier than holding him in my arms & knowing he is safe. Each time we part I feel insecure & protective. Sometimes I sneak a look at him dreaming in his cot & I vehemently hope he will always be safe & know that he is loved & wanted.
My boy, growing so fast, before my eyes. His hand, once so small that he could only grasp my individual fingers, now grows so quickly that I find us palm to palm. His long fingers interlocking mine, for a moment, & then loose again & always sticky.
He reaches out for his Dad & says his first words “Dad, Dad, Dad…” & every time I hear that little voice it makes me giggle with its insistent, soft tone.
No one will ever be more loved than our children, of that, I am certain.