5 things about...food.

1. If there's red licorice around, I will eat the entire bag. Even if I start to feel sick and sugar starts to pour out of my ears and nose, I'll keep eating it until it's gone. I don't even share.

2. There's something inherently wonderful about a cinnamon roll from Starbucks. Maybe it's the decadence of paying $3.99 for something I can buy six of for the same price at the grocery store. Because they warm it up and put it on a plate and I can eat it at a trendy little table where the beautiful people hang out. Yes, somehow that makes it taste better.

3. Food will always taste better if you eat it while watching Iron Chef. When they're creating something gross.

4. And where the hell is Jamie Oliver anyway? I used to watch him cook on TV and he's nowhere to be found.

5. As of today I have officially lost 10% of my body weight. Leaving me with 96 pounds to keep me anchored on the ground if a strong gale blows. It might not be enough.

Sleeping with the enemy.

    Twisting and turning
    Your feelings are burning
    You're breaking the girl
    She meant you no harm
    Think you're so clever
    But now you must sever
    You're breaking the girl
    He loves no one else


Maybe if I talk about him for the last fucking time, he'll move on. Writing it down now I can see it so much more clearly than before. Wishful thinking for a long rainy day. I'm really really tired, Ben. And you need to stop now. Please just leave me alone.

I wish I knew how to quit you.

Ben said that to me once, when he was one beer past fine. I remember Cole laughing and pulling me roughly into his lap while he took another sip of his rum, telling me I was a lucky girl to have so many admirers, that I was beautiful and he was proud of me. Jacob had left an hour earlier, uncomfortable with the general conversation as it was and the fact that Cole was sticking uncharacteristically close to me, when I was accustomed to him ignoring me completely except to grab me now and then when we'd pass each other. He usually left me to hang out with Jake. And later that night after the rest of our friends had left, Cole and Ben cornered me.

Did I want to have a threesome?

I almost bolted. I said with very wide eyes and shaking legs that I wanted to think about it, saying I was tired and maybe it wasn't such a good time. I'm happy it was a night when I had opted to stick to pineapple juice because had I not had my wits about me I might have slept with Ben. I was so scared they might make me do it anyways. I tried to play it cool and it worked and for some reason Ben saw how scared I was and he played along. He told Cole he wasn't sure it was the right night for that much fun.

I was just plain stunned that Cole even went there in the first place, with Ben. He usually only threatened to give me to Jacob or his own brother, Caleb. Sometimes I wasn't sure if he really understood the degree of my attraction to Jake or if he thought I was going to simply become everyone's barbie doll. I guess it depended on how drunk he was, because when he was sober he'd only talk of opening our marriage for Jake.

These are all things Jacob found out about this summer. We've talked a lot. Jacob has said if he has to keep this up he'll kill Ben and that scares him half to death. He would never have let Ben within eyesight of me had he been aware of all that history. Unspoken history indeed.

And Ben still isn't paying attention to the message.

He showed up uninvited last evening after dinner. Jake was out picking up some groceries and Ben must have seen him leave since the doorbell rang seconds after I watched the truck pull out of the driveway. I opened the door and went out on to the porch but I didn't unlock the screen door. Ben pulled at the handle and realized right away that I wasn't having any of it.

Bridge, what's this? Can you just let me in so we can talk?

No, Ben. Jake doesn't want you here anymore and I don't either. Just leave, please.

Jake's not home, princess.

Don't you fucking call me that.

I want to know what you want, not what Jake has told you to do.

I want you to leave because you're scaring me.

I wouldn't hurt you, Bridget.

Like you didn't hurt me when you crawled into my bed? It's sexual assault, Ben. People go to jail for that. And in case you've really lost your fucking mind, Cole said he'd never hurt me too. I stopped believing everyone a while ago, you're too late.

I was drunk. I'm sorry.

No excuses, Ben.

You're right. I'm sorry. You're so hard to resist.

Maybe you should try harder then. You don't grab every girl who catches your eye, Ben.

I can't...you're..you're just not any girl.

Just go away.

I really wish you'd forgive me.

You crossed the line for the second time and I can't forgive you anymore. I'm afraid of what would happen next.

What? You think I'd rape you?

Well, I can't trust you, Ben, and I can't protect myself. So I'm doing what I have to do. And if you don't go away I will get a restraining order against you.

Don't worry, your husband has made it clear.

What did he say?

That he would kill me and make sure no one ever finds my bones.

Then you should listen to him.

We used to be friends, Bridget.

I used to think you were kidding about wanting me, Ben.

I never kidded about that. And label me surprised, I didn't think you'd pick preacher boy over me.

Pick him? I didn't realize you had entered a popularity contest, Ben. I wanted Jake from the moment I met him and nothing about that ever changed until I left Cole. You knew what was going on as well as anyone else, maybe more. You weren't in the running. Why can't you see that?

Can you..can you tell me if you never met Jake would you have gone with me?

No, Ben. I wouldn't have. You've really got to move on.

Yeah, okay princess. I get it. My mistake.

That's a hell of a misunderstanding. What were you thinking?

Cole had said some things. Just..nevermind. Good luck, Bridge. With Jake, with the baby, and everything. I won't bother you anymore.

Just keep this promise, Ben, I've been through enough. Just let me be happy.

That's all I ever wanted for you, baby.

Then it's time to go.

Yes, it is.

Find a girl and fall in love, Ben.

I did. It just didn't work out quite the way I thought it would.

Goodbye, Ben.

Bye, Bridge.

I just left him there and I went back inside. From the living room window I watched him get in his car and drive away. I wasn't afraid, because I almost feel sorry for him. When Jacob came home he almost boiled over because he couldn't believe Ben had the balls to appear on our doorstep now. And he doesn't believe any promise Ben makes to me.

Somehow, I think Ben will keep this one.

I promised I would write about his reaction.

Oh so happy.

Jacob pretty much knew anyway. If there's one dead giveaway it's that I throw up a lot. Not just in the mornings, it's pretty much an all-day continuous event. Hence the fight beginning early to not wind up dehydrated and in the hospital. I can't afford to spare much of the 98 pounds that remain. Being pregnant is one of those struggles for me that winds up being a minute-by-minute battle and this cold on top of everything has left me completely drained.

I sat down at the table, got the kids arranged and when everyone was finally happy and settled and the server had taken our orders, our eyes met over the middle of the table (this was in between hovering over Henry to keep his perpetually running nose in check. I know, how romantic.)

So, Jacob, we need to talk about some things.

Like?

Like which room you'd like to turn into the nursery, for starters.
(This was the part where he almost dropped his water glass.)

Did you test?

I sure did.

The smile spread across his face in slow motion, it was the most amazing thing for me to watch. It started with the corners of his mouth turning up and widening and infecting his dimples, which deepened, creasing his cheeks into lines. Then it moved vertically, lighting up his eyes before they glassed over so thickly I thought he was going to lose it. Which he pretty much did. He jumped out of his chair and came around to my side of the table, putting his arms around me and kissing my cheeks, my hair, my lips. This was when he saw the hearing aid in my ear and that stopped him short.

What? When did you? Oh my god. I can't take all this in at once. It's too much. My God. Thank you God.

He's crouched beside my chair right in my face. I put my hands on his face and told him to sit down and we'll talk without the familiar echo of repeating every second phrase thanks to the surrounding din of clinking silverware and low conversation.

He stood up and apologized to our nearest audience, the next table who had stopped eating and were watching us have this crazy exchange.

We're having a baby! And....she can hear me!

They murmured their slightly confused congratulations, oblivious to the emotion in his voice, which I heard for the first time in public in a way that knocked me on my ass, because it was so prevalent I will never forget it.

Dinner was sort of a blur, after that. Besides, I didn't really feel well enough to enjoy it.

He sang in the truck, the whole way home. Softly, and I heard him, lyrics I didn't know, but I recognized Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, because we've danced to it a lot recently:

    I was the one you always dreamed of
    You were the one I tried to draw
    How dare you say it's nothing to me
    Baby, you're the only light I ever saw

After the kids were snugly tucked in for the night, we retired to the den to talk and cuddle and he held me so sweetly and he whispered things, talking about how happy he was, and how thankful he was for me, for everything we have. It would have been the most romantic way to end the day. Except for one thing.

The very decidedly unromantic vomiting, which punctuates every part of the day now. Something that's become pretty much part of my routine again. I really hate that part.

He doesn't seem to mind at all.

Under the Bridget.

Hi.

I'm here. Somewhere in between this cold and (the probable) hyperemesis and this blissful post-John Frusciante hangover (who I swear to God I'm marrying next and Jacob's okay with it) I'm having a hard time typing, let alone staying upright. All energies are being poured into just keeping everyone alive.

But all is well, really well and I promise I'll write about it on Saturday. Going to just try and get through the next two days without getting so dehydrated.I was abruptly informed that I am indeed NOT allowed to marry John Frusciante. Jacob is putting his foot down. I suppose he agreed with me in some sort of musical hypnosis last night somewhere between all the unwelcome pot smoke around us and the thumping beat of the Chili Peppers driving the crowd wild and of course, now all that has worn off and reality returns.

It's okay. My consolation prize (Jake) is no slouch on the guitar. Now if I could just get him to fall to his knees and do a lead like John, well, then we'll have something to work with, now, won't we?

One last thing (I promise).

I'm ready to roll, but I really need a little help with one final thing. Please god, if you're in a commenting mood, help me out?

Is it cool or not cool to bring the pregnancy test to the restaurant? Because two lines tells me this would be a very very wonderful surprise but then a tiny voice is saying it's a little gross to put a stick that you peed on in your purse and take it to a place where people are trying to have dinner.

Not that I'm really interested in the replies.

Two.

Two.

One two.

Lines.

Oh my God.

The angel of shredded wheat.

In the interest of not being difficult all the time and wanting to make life easier for my heartbreakingly beautiful husband and my children that I have come to appreciate more than you'd ever know, because I hardly ever see them anymore, I found a way to pay Jacob back for his romantic evening and honor 45 whole days married.

Oh yes I did.

I have an appointment today. To give the hearing aids a real chance. I made it weeks ago. I can keep secrets too, Reverend Firefighter man.

Some might say that this is for me. But it isn't. This is something Jacob has wanted me to do since the night he found out I couldn't hear him very well. It's something he brings up regularly and it's become a sticking point from which most arguments originate. I am so stubborn.

One of the reasons I changed my mind was because I was one hundred percent convinced that last month my daughter told me she wanted to be the Angel of Shredded Wheat for Halloween. It was the funniest thing ever. We laughed for almost an hour.

She, in fact, wanted to be an angel with shredded wings, because they had a huge pair at the costume store and she fell in love with them. (You'd have to see them to believe it, they're so cool looking.)

What else did I miss in my bullheadedness?

This is not small potatoes. These hearing aids cost thousands and I need two. They cost so much because they are supposed to help me differentiate between what I need to hear and the inconsequential but usually overwhelming background noise. Digital even. High-fucking-tech. I was warned I will be just as exhausted while I get used to them as I was without them, attempting to later dissect the words, tossed out in the cacophony of my environment like so much fluff blown from a dandelion. Chaos. Total chaos.

We all know how I love to sit and rearrange the words in my brain. To the point where I fail to pay attention to much else at all sometimes. Missing wings and shredded wheat.

My plan is to fib and tell him I'm helping in the afternoon today at the school. I made a reservation at a great restaurant for tonight and have sworn the kids to secrecy. I'm going to wear my new hearing aids to the restaurant and see how long it takes for him to notice. They're subtle but I might not be. I have a new red dress that would knock you flat. Just to throw him off.

But so help me, if he even once speaks to me without touching my chin, or holding my face in two hands, or fails to kiss his nose to my nose and look into my eyes when he's talking like he does now so I don't miss things, I swear I'll rip them out and drop them right in the dishwater.

Wish me luck!

Sleep for sale.

    Control/Freak.

A text message from Ben last night before I finally banned him from my phone. Nice. And now I have more emotions flying out in a haze of confusion and I grab them and try to stuff them back inside, and I fail.

This is so fucking painful, arguing with Jacob, and yet when we're not up to our ears in the greatest romance of the century, we're waging the war of the roses, snapping at each other through gritted teeth, usually with me biting my lip and attempting not to let the tears spill out while he throws up his hands in frustration, shirtsleeves rolled up because I am the most complicated part of his life and he has to wade right in. You pay a price for everything, eventually. No happy mediums in Bridget's world.

I wouldn't have it any other way, you know.

Jake makes me so crazy.

But hey, aren't you happy to hear that we're normal? That it isn't a perfect fairytale? That we still have bickering moments and neverending arguments and outrageous, bitter, devastating verbal exchanges that leave me reeling, and wondering what the hell I'm doing here, and maybe he doesn't love me in the way that he's supposed to and maybe trying to turn my relationship with him into something more was a colossal error on all counts.

I bet you are.

Those thoughts are heartbreaking, you know. I don't linger there.

And those doubts are the darkest feelings I think I will ever have in this new life as the preacher's wife, let me tell you that for free.

But at the same time I'm permitted now to argue as loud and as excruciatingly as I can, secure in the knowledge that I wanted this life and I will hang onto it at all costs, because I love this man.

But we still don't argue loudly. Even though my lack of volume prevents being able to make my points clearly even if I could speak normally I'd remain within kissing distance and I don't raise my voice there and neither does he. It's our neutral airspace. And within that airspace he tells me things that bother him that make me want to scream and I bite my words into my cheek and don't say them, that's his rare insecurities speaking and they deserve as much attention as everything that's beautiful in the world.

He's afraid to let me out of his sight. He's afraid something will happen to me.

I remind him that we just came through a similar situation with sending the kids to public school. Everyone has got to let go sometime, right? He says he hasn't had enough time with me yet. All to himself. His. He doesn't have to let go because he doesn't want to.

I remind him, once again, that every time I have been hurt I have been in my own home, which is partially why I'm so fucking messed up. All that did was serve to twist the knife that sticks out of his soul, because he couldn't get to me in time. Shit. Stirring up the guilt he carries deep inside isn't going to serve any purpose right now.

Jake..I'm sorry.

Don't be. You're right.

So...?

So I'm still not supporting the idea.

Why the hell not?

Because I get a warm feeling when I think about coming home to you. You fit me perfectly and if you're not here when I get home I'll miss you. I hate that feeling, Bridget. More than anything.

That's never a bad thing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know.

If my heart grew any fonder it would simply absorb you.

Geez, you really know how to turn an argument into one of 'those' moments.

What moments?

Those ones that I will never forget.

Yeah, we make a lot of those ones.

Yes, we do.

So you'll stay home?

Nope.

Aw, Bridge, you make me so crazy.

Well, we have lots of those moments too, don't we.

Too many.

Still love me? Even though I'll be working?

Of course I do and no, you won't be.

Argh, I'm too sick to fight with you right now, Jacob.

Let's pick up later then.

Fine.

So why do I feel like no matter how long we spend on this, he's going to win?

    Scream to no one
    Take your time
    Sing it louder
    Twist and shout

    Nothing to run from is worse than something
    And all your fears of nothing

    And they're swimming around again, again
    And they're swimming around
    The concrete girl

Fire with fire.

What a quiet, frustrating little way to have an argument. I remain voiceless. Silent and unable to make my points adequately. Which means he'll win by default. It's not fair.

Several weeks ago I dropped Jacob off downtown to have some tests. Standard, part of a physical, I assumed it was required because he had changed his health insurance to include us a while back. Paperwork, no big deal.

He lied to me. Well, not so much an outright lie as when I asked if that was what it was for he didn't correct me and that wasn't the reason. Lies by omission are just as deceitful.

It was a standard physical so that he can become a volunteer firefighter. A paid on-call one. Whatever. I'm not listening right now.

This became part of an argument wrapped in a second outrage because I'm not 'allowed' to get a job. I wanted to work a few nights a week or Saturdays at the bookstore near our house. It's a two level bookstore with a built-in coffee shop. Would that be heaven or what?

But no, Jacob thinks I do enough.

Plus if I'm working on the weekends what about church? Or his evening counseling? I didn't want a forty hour a week job, maybe two nights, maybe one shift a week. He doesn't want to give up any of our free time spent together but at the same time he signs up for something that requires him and his giant truck to be on call during our free time together. A potentially dangerous job. A job he wants to take without even discussing it with me first.

So last night we indulged in a rip-roaring, squeaky, phlegmy, razor-whispered drag-out verbal war because I don't want him to work more, I wanted to help out.

And it's so lovely that he wants me to continue to play the sweet little housewife role, always here, the center of my family's universe. It's also plainly obvious that he conveniently forgot about me being one half of his equation now and went and did something because he lived on his own a little too long and is used to just doing what he wants to or feels he needs to do.

I'll give him the admirable part that he'd even consider it. They need people. Very badly. He's overqualified, a wall of strength with the body of a twenty year old.

But I don't want them to have him. I don't want him going into burning buildings, and getting calls in the middle of the night to race off to dangerous situations. I wanted to work at a shop where I would bring home a pittance after taxes and get a discount on all the books we buy. I wanted to have a little of my own money, something I haven't had in years. The last thing I bought that I earned myself free and clear was a $150 watch that I'm still wearing. I bought it in 1990. I'd really love a new watch. Not a heroic husband. He's already a hero in my eyes, in the eyes of everyone. My job would cover the family health insurance and he wouldn't have to depend on a stipend. Why can't I take this weight, for once?

But he's as stubborn as I am and so the fight goes on. And he's winning, because my voice still hasn't returned. And when he holds my face and promises me that nothing will happen to him it's really hard to argue with him anyways.

Those blue eyes are just a little too phenomenal, it's difficult to look away.

Feeling it.

The whole world is breathing a collective sigh of relief. I have lost my voice. I'm used to talking all the time. Add it to the complete and total deafness brought on by this cold and it's as if I'm now standing on the outside of the world looking in through shrouded glass, unable to add my thoughts and unable to grasp the thoughts of others.

My arms feel like they weigh a hundred pounds. My head, a thousand.

But it's okay. I'm being spoiled. Very tenderly.

Last night Jacob brought home the new John Mayer CD, and put on Gravity. Very loud. I felt it resonating through my blood. And he danced with me. As long as I felt well enough to stand, he danced with me.

When Father's Day came early.

It's a beautiful day. The whole Reilly household is jumping for joy.

The order of adoption has been granted. This gives Jacob full legal and parental rights for Ruth and Henry. They are his, in the eyes of the law. Ours, at last.

A small and huge gesture all at once. He's a dad. Finally.

And as a second gesture we've been talking at length and have decided not to change their last name, even though we no longer match. Jacob and I have his, and the kids are keeping Cole's last name, because they are part of him too. Something that is important to have, because they knew and loved Cole in a way that is completely separate from my life with Cole and I'm not going to take that away from them.

I'm trying to be a good mother, I really am.

Jacob is anxious to share the news with his family and his congregation too. The excitement is unreal. I think he's happier about this than he was about our engagement and wedding. Which is fine by me because the kids and I are a package deal.

Today is not significant as far as actions go, however. Jacob has been nothing but a wonderful dad already. We haven't made it easy for him but you'd never know it by watching him.

That is what I'm celebrating.