The morning sun warms the coffee cup in my hand, and the light that shines on my spoon reflects on the wall. Mornings that are quiet and warm like this are my favourite. It's nice to sit at the table and just enjoy the start of the day. The chickadees chirp and sing outside the window, a squirrel skitters around on the window ledge. Arthur plays with his toy trucks on the floor. He has one piece of hair that falls into his face all the time, but he looks so handsome with all that hair cut short. Maybe if I can keep him still long enough, I'll give him a haircut sometime today.
He looks so smart in his new red shirt and denim overalls. I must admit, I know how to dress my son nicely. He giggles as he pulls back his toy truck and lets go of it. The truck races across the hardwood floor, and Arthur looks absolutely thrilled. He has a huge grin on his pudgy face. I swear, my son is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. He claps his hands and gurgles, and gets on all fours to crawl across the kitchen and find his truck. I can't believe it's already been a year and a half. I seems impossible that only eighteen months ago, I held him for the first time, and felt his tiny hand squeeze around my finger as he slept. I gave his pruny little face a kiss and whispered his name to him. Sometimes when he falls asleep on me, I still do that. I can't resist him. Arthur Shappey is a work of art. A masterpiece.
What makes it more worthwhile is how hard it was to have him in the first place. I guess there was a time when Gordon and I were much happier, and actually felt like a married couple should. We had money, we had a home, and we had a plane. But there was something more that we wanted. We wanted a child. So for a baby, we tried. Good Lord, did we try! When the first few times were unsuccessful, I thought nothing of it. Sometimes, these things don't happen right away. It wasn't until a year had passed that I began to wonder what was wrong. Arthur has crawled back to me and scooted his bum over to my chair. He wants up on my lap. He's a snuggly little boy, he really is.
Six months and many doctor's appointments later, I found out I was pregnant. However, Gordon and I learned right away why you should never tell anybody the news until at least three months have passed. I didn't stay pregnant for long, and when the doctor confirmed that I did indeed have a miscarriage, I gave up the will to try again. It is indescribable how awful I felt. I knew it wasn't my fault, but it still hurt. Gordon didn't seem to understand that it wasn't my fault, and for a while, our relationship was rather tense. For a long time after that, we didn't speak of it, and neither of us dared to bring up the word "baby" at all, if we didn't want to start a fight. Eventually, I thought I'd have to get used to living in a quiet house. It wasn't until two more years later, shortly after I turned thirty-three, when we discovered that I was pregnant a second time. I didn't get my hopes up, and I didn't expect too much.
But to my surprise, nine months passed uneventfully, and I grew bigger and bigger each week. Gordon never showed any enthusiasm or interest in the coming baby, which honestly disappointed me more than I could ever explain. He wasn't even there when it was finally time for the baby to arrive. My sister was the one who took me to the hospital, but from there, I endured hours and hours of labour and a long, painful delivery by myself. I was thrilled to learn that it was a boy. I already had his name picked out. I wanted to name him after my father. When the nurse asked me what the child's name was, I very proudly announced that he was Arthur Roy Shappey. My Arthur Roy Shappey.
I look down at Arthur, who rests his head against my stomach. I run my fingers through his thick hair, and he nestles in closer. He's growing so fast, and it won't be long until he is bigger than me. I think he looks more like me than he looks like his father. I wonder if it even occurs to Arthur that he's got a father. I mean, it must, but Gordon is rarely home any more. He's always off on business trips, chasing younger women and seeing what all he can get away with. But I don't mind being alone with Arthur. In fact, I'd rather have him all to myself.
"Mama," he coos. I can't help but smile every time he says that. It's the only word he knows so far, but it always makes me happy.
"Arthur," I answer, tapping my fingertip gently on the end of his nose. Arthur giggles, and his eyes light up like sparks.
I really do love my Arthur Shappey.