A Diary Entry

A little diary

I wrote this two years ago....was re-reading and realized I liked it...

In the middle of the night, I rise to the sounds of breathing beside me. A warm sound, reassuring me. My younger daughter is curled next to me, pink cheeks puffed as she mimics nursing a ghost breast in her sleep. Her name is Morgan. She is just a year- twelve months of needy and clingy and second child coddled and a love so intense I wither when only feet away from her.

My husband lies on the other side of her, so near to the edge of the bed, his full shadow is cast on the floor. When Morgan began sleeping with us, he was riddled with fear. What if I roll on her, what if the blankets suffocate her, what if I keep her up with my snoring. I am guiltily shocked when I hear an overconcerned parent speak. My own easygoing parental style seems like dwarfed love in the face of such fierce protectiveness. My husband has one arm above his head. This is how he sleeps every night. His stance is that of someone warding off blows. Very symbolic of my husband's own stance on life. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop, the next tragedy.

In the room next door is my oldest child, Rhiannon. A cherub while sleeping, a tornado while awake. At four years, she is capable of boiling my blood, making me weep, setting my heart afloat, and inspiring me to write. I admire her now, in the peace of 3:00 am. My only time all day alone with my thoughts. Her slightly upturned nose and blonde hair come from a genetic unknown to me, where the rest of her is my own mirror image. This is sometimes to my chagrin, others to my secret glee.

I make it to the bathroom, where the vent is spilling forth delicious warmth, and I rest my feet beside it as I pee. My husband complains about my feet constantly. It is one of the few times he teases me that I enjoy. We have recently bought this house, our first in a lovely neighborhood. Our families are ecstatic for us. It has been a long journey, over coals and broken glass and very infrequently, rose petals. Owning a house has propelled us through marital woes and terrible jobs and borderline poverty. Because of this, I have created a convincing façade…life has become perfect. But I have adopted my husband's cynicism. Yes there is another shoe, and when it drops, the quake will be mighty.