"It doesn't matter what you create, as long as it doesn't contradict who you are," Toby explains as he rubs my shoulders. We're both sitting at his desk since the rest of the team was out on a case. He introduced me to this "Creativity Activity Therapy," in which you draw or paint something that resembles you, for two reasons: 1. Toby says studies have shown using your creativity by making art is a great therapy for pregnant women (I'm still get used to being referred to with that term); 2. He also says it will help our baby know us. Normally, I wouldn't agree to do something like this, but I guess I'll make an exception. "So I went to the art store yesterday..." Toby stands up from his chair and disappears around a corner. He returns with plastic bags full of what I guess is a multitude of art supplies.
Toby unloads the items, including pencils, watercolors, acrylics, chalk, oil pastels, and much more things I can't name. "Why did you have to get so much?" I ask him. He finishes pulling out a pad of paper, "Creativity doesn't have limits." I groan at the quote that sounds like he read it from a psychology book about the behaviors of children. He probably did. Of course he did.
He returns to his chair and rips off a piece of watercolor paper. I watch him as he opens a container of expensive watercolor paints. He starts painting blue almost at the bottom of the page, making patterns that remind me of waves. Toby looks up at me with that stupid (but adorable) grin of his. "What are you going to do?"
I shrug and glance around at the array of supplies surrounding me. I decide to keep it simple and pick up the box of pencils. I take a piece of thick paper and lay it as close as possible to me, right on the edge of the desk. Stupid stomach. What is something that represents me? Let's see, I like machines and dark colors. Not exactly creative, but that's me. I pick up a 2B pencil, imagine a motorcycle engine in my head, and sketch it out on the paper. I must be so focused on my drawing that I barely notice Toby staring at me. I decide to ignore him and I soon start to shade in the values of the engine. Toby sets something in front of me. I pick it up with a look of confusion across my face. "It's called a stump. You use it to smooth and blend the pencil," he says. I finish shading and start to stump the picture.
When I am done smoothing the pencil, I take a good look at my picture. I'm actually quite impressed. "Happy..." Toby mutters with his mouth hanging open. "That's amazing..." He picks up my paper and a spray can on the desk. He starts to head outside and I follow him. But he stops me short. "Hap, there's fumes that would bad for you to inhale." I sigh and let him spray the picture.
As Toby does that, I go back to his desk and look at his painting. I feel tears gather in my eyes when I realize what his picture is. It's a beach, with vibrant blue water and a bright sky, but with two people sitting on the sand. There's a man with curly brown hair with his arm wrapped around a much shorter woman with raven hair. It's the two of us. My head is resting on his shoulder. I hear the door open and Toby walks in. He sets down my drawing and the can when he sees me looking at his painting. "It's the two of us," I whisper. Toby smiles he puts an arm around me like in the picture. "Why?" I ask. He answers without much thought. "I painted what represents me. So I painted you, because you are my everything." I face him. His eyes water as he pulls me in for a hug. I put my arms around him as well. Tears stream down my face, but they're happy tears. I breathe in his scent and close my eyes. Toby runs his arms up and down my aching back.
"I love you, Hap."
I smile. "I love you too."