One day, about a month ago, I was taking a nice, cozy, deliciously pleasant bath.
Jake stomped in, wearing these big, obnoxious boots. Jake was grinning. Jake is always grinning.
I can't remember WHAT the hell kind of nonsensical bullshit we were shooting, but Jake decided, as a consequence of such bullshit, that he ought to test his underwater-breathing abilities.
So I lay there in the tub, holding Jake's stop-watch, while he stuck his head into the bathwater. Of course, he didn't make it very long, a.) because he's a smoker, and b.) because I kept making him laugh. He kept having to try it over and over, to make his record better. I don't think he ever got over a minute.
But what the hell; it was fucking funny.
I thought of this because Jake's watch is in my apartment, and the alarm goes off at various times, EVERY fucking night. I found it this morning, and was contemplating throwing it out the window or something, because I hate it. But then I looked at it, and I thought about Jake trying to prove his stamina in my bathwater (which contained "Rain" scented bath oil beads -- how very manly...), and I thought that watch was the greatest thing since sliced bread.
I went to the Health Department today. It should be noted that the Thurston County Health Department is SO much better than the Broome County (New York) Health Department... Hell, you walk into the Broome County Health Department and you leave with an STD you didn't have before... Ask Aaron sometime about the time we brought a dead bird there to be tested for West Nile Virus, and they tested it for chlamydia instead...
Maybe.
Anyway...
So, the Health Department says everything is normal. My weight, my blood pressure, the amount of iron in my blood (take THAT, vegetarians! Meat-eaters don't GET anemic!), and everything else -- all seems normal and fine. They did about a bazillion tests on me, and the only unusual thing they found was that my uterus is tipped backwards. But I've known that forever. And allegedly one in four women have such a thing. And the only difference it really makes is that it's allegedly harder to get pregnant. I demand a recount on that...
They also told me I'm not a freak for falling asleep at 8 PM and waking up at 1 AM every damned night. They said it's a little unusual, but it's probably just my body's way of getting used to hormonal changes. I said: "I think the little one is a vampire." They didn't seem to find that amusing, although I, sick as I must be, thought it was hilarious...
We went to Arby's yesterday. I said: "Don't think you're going to be eating like this all the time. This shit right here that I'm feeding you -- this is shit, and you'd best not get used to it. Tomorrow, you're going back to asparagus and orange juice and hummus on wheat bread."
I said this out loud, without meaning to say it out loud.
It took me a good minute or two to realize that it appeared that I was talking to no one.
But I didn't believe I was talking to no one.
I had this understanding that, even though it SEEMED like I was talking to the air, SOMEONE was hearing me, or feeling me, or understanding me in some primitive way that doesn't involve senses as you and I experience them. I don't know why I thought that, or HOW I thought that, but dammit, I am NOT alone...
I don't know when a person becomes a person. I don't know when a fetus gets a soul. I don't know when this little being inside me stopped being a bunch of cells and started being somebody I could talk to... Maybe it happens at different times for everyone. But this is somebody I can talk to now. This is somebody with a soul. And whether or not I'm pro-choice -- and I am -- I have made my choice. It stopped being a choice, really, when I realized that what I said, and what I did, was being heard, and comprehended, and... gahd almighty, loved. I burst into tears over a beef-and-cheddar. Not, admittedly, the first time I've ever done that, but it's really something when you realize there's a very, very small soul inside your body, and it's watching you, and listening to you, and waiting until it has the eyes with which to look at you...
I do not know if I have the courage and strength to be a mother right now. I do not know if I have the courage and strength to go through an adoption, either. But this child is a child now -- I can feel this, and I know this -- and abortion would, right now, for me, be murder, and a grotesque abuse of an amazing trust. This is not to join up with the pro-lifers in ANY way, because I think most pro-lifers are creepy old assholes. This is not a political issue. This is an issue of somebody listening to my stupid ramblings at an Arby's. Betcha never, ever imagined such a revelation could come from such dumb circumstances...
So I made a promise, to do my best to bring this baby into the world as healthy as possible. I made that promise out loud, even though I don't REALLY think I needed to...
The thing is...
When I met Jake in the bar (and yeah, we met in a bar; go figure), I did not expect we'd be together forever. I didn't expect we'd even GET together. I expected that I'd harass the hell out of his creepy friend, and that would be that. I half-envisioned a one-night-stand with Jake. But only half.
When Jake and I started dating, I didn't expect much then, either. I didn't expect to fall in love, or stay in love, or feel much of anything beyond a few weeks of deliriously lustful and chaotic affection.
And to be honest, I'm thinking too hard about everything else to be thinking much about the future of Jake's, and my, relationship. And after all, Jake and I can't even communicate with each other right now -- not until after the trial, after the sentencing, and then, perhaps, after some other stuff. We can't speak until at LEAST mid-December. In other words, we currently don't HAVE a relationship, at least not one that's halfway sane. Talk about your "long-distance" relationship, you know?
But I realized something... That eerie sensation that I'm not alone? That eerie sensation that I'm watched, and trusted, and loved by something very small? That sensation has everything to do with Jake. And for that, if for absolutely no other reason (and there are other reasons, not the least of which are things like games played in my stupid bathwater...), I am madly in love with Jake. I wish, so very, very much, that I could go to him, and place his hand on my belly (which doesn't look out-of-the-ordinary at all...), and say: "look what we made..." Look! Look what we made! Me and this attractive guy from the bar -- the cute guy with the creepy friend: look what we made!
I don't believe in staying together for the children. I really fucking hate that idea.
I do believe in staying together because you care about somebody. And I believed, from the morning after Jake's arrest, that after all was said and done, we'd end up back together, eventually. After a LOT of talking, and a LOT of compromising, and a lot of bitching, and a lot of hugging. Because I supposed that Jake and I must love each other, or something sort of like that.
I want to be doing that talking, and compromising, and bitching, and hugging. Because I MISS Jake. More than I EVER thought I would. I want to tell him everything. I want to tell him how pissed off I am at him for drinking in the damned first place. I want to tell him I forgive him, and I'd trust him with my life as long as there wasn't alcohol involved. I want to tell him that my landlord may or may not have a secret crush on him, as she keeps asking how he is -- with more concern than strictly necessary. I want to tell him about the poem that the girl downstairs wrote for all of us. I want to say: I'm sorry, and I hope you're okay.
Most of all, I want to say to Jake: look what we made...
And I can't.
This is justice? FUCK justice. Fuck it in the ass with a blackberry bramble.
I want to say this: Look what we made... And this: Thank you... And this: Hold me?
So much waiting... So much waiting... And Jake... who knows if he has any inclination of waiting?
If you see him, wink three times at him and smile.
The baby's due date is July 7th.
I just thought I'd let you know.
Love,
~Helena*