Title: A Dream Life
Author: Andrea (Carbylove@aol.com)
Rating: R
Summary: She's having a baby. Carby fuzz and fluff.
Author's Note: Thanks for the editing Cath … And Kelly, your request was granted. Thanks for the suggestion.
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Chapter 10: Inside the Bubble
I creep into the apartment quietly, not wanting to wake sleeping beauty. I've made that mistake before, and it's a scene I'd rather not repeat. I go into the kitchen to stash the food that I've brought home, as per Abby's cryptic request, and then tiptoe into the bedroom. Sure enough, Abby's sound asleep on the bed. I put my other packages down near the bed, and smile at the sleeping form. If I were smart, I'd retreat to the living room so as not to take a chance on waking her up. But I guess I'm not that smart. Or I'm just too drawn to her.
Because I can't just leave her alone. But it's not my fault. She's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Now, when she's carrying my child, more than ever. I find myself unable to resist the urge to touch her. I perch on the edge of the bed and reach out to smooth her hair back gently. She doesn't wake up, just smiles in her sleep before rolling over on to her other side, wrapping herself around the pillow. The sheet ends up tangled around her legs, and I see that she's borrowed one of my t-shirts. A t-shirt that has ridden up around her waist, exposing her bare backside. Since she's asleep, I won't take her mooning me like this too personally.
Of course her state of undress does pose another problem. That whole 'wanting to touch her' thing -- the desire is stronger than ever. I shouldn't disturb her. I should let her sleep. If I knew what was good for me, I'd get up and leave the room right now. But she's so irresistible. I reach out and gently touch her leg. She doesn't stir. Her breathing remains the same as I slip my hand up her leg. I caress her slightly-rounder-than-usual butt, and she still hasn't protested or even shown any signs of awareness. I should stop now before I get myself into real trouble. But instead I lean over and place a kiss the rounded cheek that I'm still stroking lightly.
"Well, that's a whole new twist on 'kiss my ass,'" a sleepy voice intones. Uh-oh. Busted.
"Sorry." I shift my gaze up to hers and am happy to see that she looks amused, rather than angry.
"Starting without me, huh? You know, you could at least wake me up first."
"I wasn't trying to start anything … I was just … admiring your irresistible beauty." I look down at my hands still strategically placed on her body. "Well, a little hands-on admiration, I guess." She giggles as she sits up, effectively pushing me away as she tugs her borrowed t-shirt down. I settle down next to her and wrap my arms around her.
"You really weren't trying to start anything?"
"Well, no. Not really. But if you want to …" Now there hasn't been a time that Abby hasn't wanted to in the past three weeks, but still, I thought I should ask. Of course I've already let my hand run up her side to her breast as my lips nuzzle her neck.
"Dammit, John!" She pushes my hand away.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing! Nothing's wrong! Why does something have to be wrong? I just don't want you all over me all the time." Me all over her. That's a new one.
"Sorry." I mumble. And I am. I'm sorry she's completely insane. Okay, that's not fair. I know this can't be easy on her either. But it's just so hard to predict her reactions these days, I feel like I can't win. Guess I better get used to it. I move over to my own side of the bed, determined to try to stay on her good side.
"So?" she asks me, out of nowhere.
"So?" I repeat.
She sniffs audibly. "I smell tomato sauce. Pizza? It's not pizza again, is it?"
"Italian."
"Lasagna?"
"Spaghetti."
"Well? What are you waiting for? Go get it."
"Dinner in bed?" She looks at me and her eyes narrow slightly.
"I've had a long day, John. I'm tired. Is there something wrong with wanting to stay in my bed?" She wants to eat spaghetti in our bed. Spaghetti? In bed? Okay, okay. She's having your baby, I remind myself. Give her whatever she wants.
"Okay, dinner in bed it is then." I hurry back out to the kitchen to collect dinner. I take the time to arrange the food neatly on plates, put the plates on a tray with a pile of napkins, and pour Abby a large glass of milk before returning to the bedroom. I was afraid that perhaps she would have fallen asleep while I was gone, but I should have known better. There's food involved, of course she's going to stay awake for that. Not that I'm complaining. I'm glad to see she has such a healthy appetite. I worry that it won't last, but so far, so good.
Abby tucks into the spaghetti with gusto, and my worries turn to how we'll ever get a twelve pound baby out of her a few months from now.
"What?" She demands, slurping up an escaped spaghetti noodle.
I shake my head back and forth. "Nothing."
"Then why are you staring at me?" Uh-oh, she sounds mad. "You think I'm eating too much, don't you? You don't want me to get fat. Then you'll be embarrassed by your fat wife who eats like a pig."
"Abby …"
"I disgust you, don't I?"
"What? No, of course not."
"Yes, I do. You're probably thinking, 'there goes fat Abby stuffing her face again.' I mean, it's not like I'm nourishing your child or anything important like that. And here you are grossed out by me. I'll bet you don't even want to touch me anymore, you probably -- "
I lean over and kiss her. Spaghetti sauce on her chin and all. Seems like it's the only thing that is likely to shut her up at the moment. God, I love her, but it's hard to take the … paranoia sometimes. And the mood swings. And the cravings. I didn't know it was all gonna start up at once. Of course, now that she's kissing me back, I guess I don't have too much to complain about. She pulls back and looks at me.
"Do you feel better now?" I ask her. She shrugs, noncommittally. "I don't think you're fat. I don't think you eat too much. You need to eat to grow a big, strong baby. I was just hoping it wouldn't be too big of a baby, that's all. I was just considering what it would take to get a 12-pounder out of you." She smiles a little, and I lay my hand on her stomach. My baby's in there. It's still incredible to me.
"But better that you are able to eat than that you can't keep anything down. And I'm glad you're not one of those women who doesn't eat for fear of gaining weight. You don't have to worry about getting too 'fat.' No matter what, you'll always be beautiful to me." She rolls her eyes at this, as usual.
"And I can't believe that you're worried about me not wanting to touch you. Did you forget how I woke you up?" She laughs a little and seems generally happier. I take a flier on a one-liner, "It's not my fault that you wouldn't let me show you just how much I want to touch you."
"Well, maybe after dinner." She says with a grin. "I was hungry." She informs me, by way of an explanation, I suppose.
"Yeah, I know." I say. It makes sense. She gets cranky when she's hungry. She gets cranky when she's tired. Don't wake her up. Keep her well-fed. It occurs to me that this is all good practice for fatherhood. In that spirit, I wind some spaghetti on my fork and offer it to Abby. She takes it but looks at me suspiciously.
"I can feed myself you know," she tells me, after she swallows.
"I know, but I wouldn't want to tire you out. You know, before … dessert."
"Dessert?" Her eyes light up. "What's for dessert?"
"Um … you, me …" I waggle my eyebrows at her.
"Oh! That … yeah. But I thought you meant there was, you know, cake or something."
"Well, there's lots of ice cream. Three different kinds, in fact."
"Even better. Where did it come from?"
"Oh, you know, this new thing called a 'grocery store.'"
"You went to the grocery store?" She asks, ignoring my sarcasm.
"Well, you said, 'bring food' and I wasn't exactly sure what you meant. So I thought I'd better cover all my bases. Bring home dinner. Get some groceries …"
"Thanks. I was going to do it on my way home from work, but …"
"Too tired?"
"Well, yeah. Especially after the meeting."
"Meeting?" I ask.
"Yeah, you know … AA."
"Didn't you just go to one?" I ask. For a while now, Abby and I have been following basically the same schedule of regular, but relatively infrequent meetings. That she's felt compelled to go to an additional meeting so soon after the last one has me slightly worried.
"Yeah, but …"
"What? Is something wrong?"
"Well, I didn't have the urge to toss back a couple of cold ones, if that's what you're worried about." I won't admit it, but yeah, I guess, that's exactly what I was worried about. Not that I think that she would do that, especially not while she's carrying our child. But even an urge can be worrisome.
"So then … why?"
She sighs. Looks at me. Shrugs. "Susan was back today." Huh? What does that have to do with anything? Maybe we're changing the subject.
"Oh. That's good. Did she have a nice vacation?"
"She wasn't on vacation."
"No?"
"Nope. She was off rescuing her niece from her drunken mother." Oh. Well, now it makes sense. Susan was struggling with her sister. And I guess when Abby heard about it, it struck a chord with her. She's sitting back against the pillow, looking down at her hands and twirling her wedding ring around and around on her finger. A nervous gesture that I've come to recognize. I move the detritus from dinner off the bed and get comfortable next to Abby again, reaching out to take her hand.
"She told you about it?"
"Yep." Abby nods. She doesn't say anything right away, but I've learned to wait her out. Eventually she starts to speak once again. "It just reminded me so much of when I was kid, you know. A little girl who has to take care of herself. And her mother. And it's so unfair. And I just … kinda freaked out, you know. It's a horrible thing for a kid to go through. And I don't ever want to put our child through something like that. And I won't. No matter what it takes. So … I went to a meeting, because I didn't know what else to do. I wanted to feel like I was doing something to guarantee that I won't be that same drunken mother ruining my kid's life."
"You won't be. That's not gonna happen."
"How do you know?"
"Because we won't let it happen, Abby." I put a finger under her chin and lift her head up so that she has no choice but to look at me. "Whatever bad things happen to us, we'll get through them together. And we'll have each other, and we'll have our child. So we won't need to turn to drugs or alcohol to get us through the tough stuff. You know that, right?"
No answer.
"Abby?" She nods.
"As long as we're together, there's nothing that we can't get through." She nods again. "But if going to more meetings makes you feel better, then I'm all for it."
"Well, mostly it made me feel bored. And I was so tired, I was afraid I'd fall asleep. And fall over. And knock down all the chairs. And it would probably be when someone was sharing for the first time. And they'd be mortified. And run away. And never go to another meeting. And die a worthless drunk on the street. And it would be all my fault."
"Well, as long as these meetings help you think rationally."
She giggles and squeezes my hand. "Well, I can't say that I really enjoy them. But I don't care if I have to go to a meeting a day for the rest of my life. That's what I'll do if I have to. Whatever it takes to stay sober. I've already promised this baby that she'll never have to come home to find her mommy passed out on the living room couch. And that's promise I intend to keep." I kiss the top of her head and wrap my arms around her more tightly. I'm so proud of her. "I guess I'll have to pass out in the bedroom instead."
"Abby …"
"Just kidding."
"I know."
"Seriously, though. I want you to promise me something."
"Anything."
"Promise me that you won't ever let me do anything to hurt the baby."
"Abby, you're not gonna do anything to hurt this baby. You're gonna be a great mom."
"I wonder if my father said the same thing about Maggie?" I quickly turn to look at her. She rarely mentions her father. She catches my look and shrugs. "The least he could have done was stick around and try to protect us from our own mother. God knows I can understand why he didn't want to be married to her, but we were his kids." She's not crying, but her voice is flat. Denoting a painful subject that she hasn't really let herself deal with yet. Or maybe she's already dealt with it and is resigned to it. I'm not sure which. Still, it tells me what she's really asking me to promise.
"I'm not going to leave you. I'm certainly not going to leave our kids. No matter what, I wouldn't walk away from my children. "
Abby nods. And then pats her belly. "See, baby, I got you a good one. Whatever else I mess up, at least I made sure you've got a good daddy."
"And the baby is gonna have a good mommy, too. She's lucky to have a mother who is so devoted already." I lean down and kiss her. We should start a mutual admiration society. Although I guess we kinda did when we put those rings on our fingers.
"You said 'she' again." Abby chides.
"Yeah, so did you."
"I did? No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did. You think it's a girl, too, don't you?" I've had a feeling from the very beginning. Abby claims that she doesn't have any idea, but I think that maybe she's just afraid to be wrong.
"No."
"Just hoping?"
"No. I'll be happy either way." Well, so will I. But that doesn't mean that if I could choose … but of course, I can't. So I guess we'll wait and see.
"Hey," I start, changing the subject. Well, shifting to a different aspect of the ever-present subject. "Wanna see what I got today?"
"Oh no. I'm afraid to ask."
"Well, you're gonna find out anyway." I laugh as I retrieve the bags with my other purchases. I pull a few things out and toss them on the bed.
"Books?" Abby seems relieved. She was probably afraid that I'd already bought an entire set of nursery furniture.
"Yep, I thought there were a few that we should have."
"A few? More like an entire library." She looks over at me with amusement as she starts sorting through the books. "Is there any subject you missed? Let's see … books on pregnancy, child care, child birth, breastfeeding, child development and … " She looks at me again, but this time I can't quite read the look on her face.
"Not that I think we'll need it. But I thought maybe you'd feel better having a reference resource. You know, a place to start if we're ever concerned." She nods and looks down at the book in her hands. A book about bipolar disorder in children. I happened upon it in the bookstore, and thought that maybe it was something we should have. I know Abby would prefer not to think about it, but I also know that she can't help thinking about it. And neither can I, really. I'm not terribly worried about the possibility, but I do want to be prepared.
"Of course, we don't have to worry about it now." I tell her as I gently take the book out of her hands and put in a drawer in the end table. Out of sight, out of mind. "And … look what else I got." I empty out another bag.
"Kids' books?"
I nod enthusiastically. "Yeah, bedtime stories and fairy tales. Classics and Dr. Seuss. My favorites from when I was a kid. And look, Good Night, Moon. In a board book. Aren't these things great? They're made out of cardboard so the baby can't rip -- or eat -- the pages." She's giving me her indulgent look right now. She thinks I'm crazy, but she's gonna just put up with my insanity anyway. "Hey, look at these. Plastic books for the bathtub, cloth books, books with teethers. This one has a strap to attach to the stroller."
"Convenient." She's flipping through the books and shaking her head. "But why did you buy them now? Aren't you a getting a bit ahead of yourself?"
"No, I want to start reading to the baby."
"Before it's born?"
"It can't hurt."
"But the baby can't hear yet."
"So we'll get in the habit … and then once it can hear and after it's born … You know how important it is to read to your kids."
She gives that little half smile that I love so much. "It's pointless, isn't it?"
"What? Reading to the baby? Not at all. It improves vocabulary and attention span and helps develop a love of books."
"No, not reading to the baby. It might be a little pointless now, but it'll be important later. And if you want to start reading to my stomach now, be my guest. Maybe it'll improve my digestion."
"You feeling sick?"
"No, I'm not feeling sick."
"Oh, good. So what is it that you think is pointless? Besides reading children's books to your belly?"
"It's pointless trying to get you to stop buying things for the baby."
"Yeah, probably. I can't help it. I'm excited." I'll admit it. Although excited doesn't really cover it. Thrilled, delighted, overjoyed. I just can't wait.
"And that's a good thing. It's just that pretty soon … we're gonna run out of room for all this stuff."
"I guess we'll just have to get a bigger place." I tell her.
"Ugh, let's not have this discussion right now." I've brought it up before -- the idea of looking for a house. Or at least a bigger apartment. Abby steadfastly refuses to talk about it. She also refuses to talk about why she won't talk about it. I guess she's already dealing with enough changes, she doesn't want to contemplate any more.
"Okay, we won't talk about it … right now." I give her a wry smile as I reach into a bag. "Besides there's something I want to show you."
"Oh God … what now? Baby's first car?"
"Haha. That's ridiculous Abby. How could I have a car in this bag?" She just looks at me. "Although I did see one of those little kids' motor cars that looked just like a little Jeep."
"You were at Toys 'R' Us looking at baby things again, weren't you?"
"Maybe."
"Did you buy anything?"
"No, but I did pick up a catalogue of baby products while I was there."
"Is that what you wanted to show me?"
"Nope. I wanted to show the baby."
"What?" I point to the book I've laid on the bed in between us. It's a big book. A coffee table book. "What is this? A photography book? Pictures of babies?"
"Sort of. In utero pictures of babies. So we can see what our baby looks like right now."
"Oh." Is her only comment. But I can see the smile creeping across her face.
"Baby's six weeks old, right?" I ask as I start flipping through the pages.
"45 days." I raise my eyebrows at her. "What? It's not like we don't know exactly when it happened. All you have to do is figure out how long you've been home from Central America."
"Oh yeah. It's kinda nice knowing exactly when junior was conceived."
"Junior? I thought that were convinced that it's a girl."
"Abby, Junior."
"You're so funny."
"What's wrong with 'Little Abby?'"
"No way. We're not naming the baby after me. We're not naming the baby after anyone. I want our kids to have their own names."
"No John IV then, huh?"
"Did you really want that?" She asks me.
"Well … no, not really."
"Maybe John can be his middle name."
"No," I counter, "Abigail can be her middle name." She rolls her eyes at me. I'm not sure if it's for insisting that the baby is a girl, or my suggestion about her name.
"So … are you gonna show me this picture of 'our' baby or not?"
"Sure. Here you go. Six week old embryo."
"Wow." Abby says. "That is so … ugly."
"Abby!"
"No, really, it's kinda scary."
"Abby … it's not scary or ugly, it's beautiful."
She starts laughing. "You're nuts. That picture is not beautiful. Look, I know our baby will be beautiful. And the whole process of pregnancy is beautiful … but at this particular stage, the baby is not beautiful. It has the potential … but at the moment, it kinda looks like a slug."
"Abby." I push the book out of the way and lay my head down on Abby's lap. "Don't listen to your mother, she has no imagination. And no idea what she's talking about. You are beautiful. Just like your mother." I look up from talking to the baby, and catch the mommy sticking her tongue out at me.
"It's not even much bigger than a slug. Not even half an inch yet. Unbelievable, isn't it?" She asks in more reverent tone.
"Yeah."
"I can't believe that in just a few months it will go from garden slug to a real, live baby. It all happens so fast."
"I'll bet you won't be saying that when you're nine months pregnant." She gives me playful shove, pushing me off her lap.
"I'm serious, John. Look at this. A picture of what the baby looked like five days ago. Aside from the eye, the facial features were indistinguishable. And now, just five days later there's a nose and lips, even an ear."
"Aha! See, it's not too early to start reading to the baby."
"The baby still won't be able to hear anything until about the fifth month. If you don't believe me, just read the book. It says so right here. Between the fifth and sixth month. And since I'm only in the second month, we've got some time."
"I'm still gonna start reading now."
She sighs. "Okay, so what's baby's first bedtime story gonna be? Wait, maybe I should choose since I'm the one who's really gonna be hearing it."
"Actually, there's something else I'd rather you listen to."
"Oh yeah, what's that?"
"Well, there was music playing while I was at the bookstore. And this one song … I just happened to catch some of the lyrics so I stopped and listened. It was one of those perfect music montage kind of songs. Something right out of some chick flick. But it was perfect. So I ran over to the music department and asked the clerk what was playing. She showed me this CD." I hold it out for her inspection.
"Marc Cohn. What song?" She asks as she leans over to put the CD in the player that sits on the bedside table.
"The Things We've Handed Down." I tell her.
"Oh." She says, selecting the right track and then sitting back against the pillows once again. She motions for me to return to my former position, resting my head in lap, and I gladly do. "I wonder what it's about." She says in her very-best 'curious' voice. Good thing I find her sarcasm cute and endearing. I'm stretched out across the bed, using her lap as my pillow, and she's softly smoothing my hair back from my forehead as I close my eyes. We stay just like this as we listen to the lyrics that had so captivated me earlier that day.
Don't know much about you
Don't know who you are
We've been doing fine without you
But, we could only go so far
Don't know why you chose us
Were you watching from above
Is there someone there that knows us
Said we'd give you all our love
It's so true. Abby and I were pretty good, just the two of us. But now, with this baby, things are even better. We're closer, we're stronger … we're a family. And already I know that we both love this baby more than anything.
Will you laugh just like your mother
Will you sigh like your old man
Will some things skip a generation
Like I've heard they often can
Are you a poet or a dancer
A devil or a clown
Or a strange new combination of
The things we've handed down
When I think about the baby, I think about how I want her to be just like her mother … with maybe just a few of my traits thrown in for good measure. And I think about how I hope that our child will be lucky enough that the all the bad stuff will skip right over her. But mostly, I think about how I can't wait to meet this little person and see what a beautiful baby Abby and I can make together.
I wonder who you'll look like
Will your hair fall down and curl
Will you be a mama's boy
Or daddy's little girl
Will you be a sad reminder
Of what's been lost along the way
Maybe you can help me find her
In the things you do and say
I want my daddy's little girl to look just like my Abby, chestnut curls and big brown eyes with a smile that lights up all of Chicago. And I hope that this baby will never be cause for sadness, and always bring us nothing but joy. There's been so much sadness in our lives already. So many thing have been lost for both of us. My grandparents gone. My brother, dead. Her brother, sick. Both of us with parents unable or unwilling to be the parents we've needed. But I can't help but hope that this baby will bridge the gap, and heal some of the wounds in our families.
And these things that we have given you
They are not so easily found
But you can thank us later
For the things we've handed down
Only good things. I only want to give this child the good things in both of us. The good things in our lives. I want my baby to be spared the pain and heartache that Abby and I have has to face. I want to leave our baggage behind and concentrate on the future. Our future as a family. Nothing in the world matters to me more.
"John?" I open up my eyes and find myself staring into Abby's. Tearful and soft as they look down at me. It's one of those moments where we don't really need to say anything. We look into each other's eyes and know what the other is thinking. In silent agreement, we rearrange ourselves on the bed. Spooning together, Abby's back to my chest, my chin finding a resting place on her shoulder. She's in nothing but a t-shirt, I'm still fully dressed. There are books scattered all over the bed and the floor and a tray of dirty dishes covered in congealed spaghetti sauce sitting by the door. But none of that matters right now.
We're inside our little bubble. The John and Abby and Baby Carter bubble where the rest of the world, and even dirty dishes, cease to exist. I rest my hand on her belly, relishing how comfortable and right it feels there. Her hand covers mine and I know that she's smiling the same introspective smile that graces my face right now. Both of us listening to the music and dreaming our baby dreams and feeling blessed to finally have this kind of happiness in our lives. We really are living a dream life.