Sorry to leave you hanging. There was no time earlier to come back. Why oh why didn't I keep the Vicodin? That would have helped today. Or something. A very stiff drink right now would be nice. No such luck. Jake gets one. He's not on antidepressants. Lucky guy.
Jacob is not Henry's biological father. 100% not. When the lawyer called to ask if we had the results she actually had the nerve to ask me if we were going to change Henry's middle name now. I promise I didn't swear at her out loud. I was a very good girl.
My relief was so fleeting. And then I realized that I was briefly given the bulletproof heart because someone had to hold us up. Because Jacob took his long overdue turn and fell apart. He went down in a spectacularly controlled measure of total anguish and it caught me by surprise because at no time did he reveal how much he wanted this because I wouldn't discuss it first. But Jake doesn't castigate me. He should, but he doesn't. I am unscathed. There is always the future. I'm done looking back now.
No, instead he got down on his knees beside the table and he asked God for comfort. And then he miserably looked at me like I was able to somehow channel it straight from heaven, as if it would come through me.
He says sometimes it does. And when the shock wears off, he'll be able to accept this as the best possible outcome under the circumstances. Jake is strong. A remarkable man. Just not a father yet. Not on this day.
Thanks for all the kind wishes. I'm off now to go breath very deeply and read some bedtime stories to the kids. The kids who are completely oblivious to all this. Oh to be five years old again.
Friday, 7 July 2006
Reasonable doubt.
I'm talking to myself this morning. A mile a minute. Ranting. Blubbering. You will fall behind. Sorry. Oh, and it's going to have to be a cliffhanger. I can't fucking do this. Somebody shut me up.
The first step would be to acquiesce and stop challenging the past, no, Bridget?
Jacob is at his office. The kids are playing up in the playroom and I just sat down to write for an hour and finish a pot of coffee and the doorbell rings and in the space of thirty seconds I am reeling again. And possibly more. Sitting in my lap is an envelope with our test results. Couriered over because we arranged to have them sent over rather than waiting and having to go to more appointments. I didn't expect it until Monday. I'm not opening this envelope. I want the cameras off. This is not reality TV, it's my fucking life.
Last week: A blow up an hour after we came back from the lab, in which Jacob lost his patience for my endless troubled chatter about how Henry couldn't possibly be his son brought it back around to reality.
Bridget. Stop.
Can't.
It's not such a big secret. The people who need to know, know and we can't change any of it.
It shouldn't have to count.
But it does and you have to admit it to yourself.
Again, Can't.
What if he's mine?
Then we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
We can cross it now. We need to deal with this.
We need to wait. Otherwise we waste time talking and find out our fears are unfounded. Then what?
Then at least everything is out in the open and we go forward. We keep getting held back by loose ends and unresolved arguments.
No, we're not being held back or we wouldn't have gone and had those tests.
And around it goes in a vicious circle that will cease today. Jacob is half-paralyzed with anxiety over this. It's so hard for him you can't even imagine. After everything there is still so much hell to go through and it's awful. It feels so awful and yet I feel the same paralysis. I really wish I could hold someone's hand right now. I'm going to throw up.
What would you do if you suddenly discovered a child you knew was yours?
What have you missed?
Sure Jacob has been here, he's been around, he's changed diapers and rocked babies to sleep and comforted and walked for miles and hours with the little reflux king and he's bought things and been there for first steps and fun times, and been the best godfather ever.
He's been out of sight for months when we moved, when he travelled, when things were okay and Cole and I called a moratorium on hurting each other and tried to be a better family.
He hasn't been there for ultrasounds, for frightening emergency c-sections, or well baby checkups and for the neverending dead-of-night feedings. He hasn't been able to stand there and look at Henry and say "That is my son." and feel the pride that only a father feels. He hasn't been able to claim that role. No one can give that time back to him if we find out he is Henry's father. Regrets I wish to bury forever and I can't.
Oh, but Bridge, you were so convinced that he couldn't possibly be Henry's father. (Just like I talked myself into being happily married to Cole. Wow, I'm that good. Guileful. Huh.)
No, sorry, I'm only convinced he cannot be Ruth's father.
Henry? Oh, there's a very tiny small possibility. A loss of control. We lost our fucking minds for around five minutes that resulted in nothing except for, well, admitting we lost control. A moment where we couldn't step away from each other so we stepped in closer until we fit together like a puzzle that was finally complete. Fireworks all the way around. Too close. Too hot. Too much. So right. So fucking right.
What in the hell are we doing?
We stopped before we had barely started and we never acknowledged it out loud to each other ever again until earlier this week. Jake took the high road and I walked the low alone.
That alone is where the outside chance comes from and why I can never let myself off the hook for being a bad wife. Rolling over in bed and finding Jacob there because he fell asleep sitting up watching me sleep because I was so damned tired. This was the morning after the hayride and that kiss because when I composed myself and finally drove back to the cottage and sent the neighbor home and got Ruth tucked in that night, Jake showed up, full of apologies for forcing himself on me. He wasn't to be blamed-I didn't stop him, did I?
He asked me if I really did love him.
Of course I did. What a stupid question and I'm in so far over my head I may as well fall apart, which I did. I cried so hard and he held me. When I woke up he was still there. I started to ask him if he was okay and he kissed me instead. Again.
We're just full of great ideas, you know.
It felt so good to be in his arms. From that moment on there would never be another place I ever want to be more than right there. The kissing led to shirts being pulled up and jeans being pulled off, and oh my god what the hell are we doing? But it was five minutes of heaven before we remembered that I was married and not to him and we stopped cold. Reluctantly. Hesitantly. Nothing was completed, if you know what I mean. Bittersweet? That doesn't come close to describing those minutes.
But technically, it counts on all fronts. I cheated. I cheated but was cheated out of my cheating by our collective conscience and so I allowed myself to pretend it never happened. But it counts as the outside chance that Henry could be Jacob's son. I took sex education. Withdrawal? Doesn't make you safe. It only makes it easier to sleep at night because you can say you never did the deed, my friend. Bridget, you're a liar.
Cole knew. Because I had to tell him. I didn't tell him about the kiss because I didn't want him to know about it for some crazy reason I still don't understand but I did tell him I slept with Jake. I didn't want to tell him, Jake wanted to and he said if I didn't, he would have to. Jake was never afraid of Cole, Jake is only afraid of himself. So I did, verbally tripping and visibly shaking. Cole was not surprised, only angry, everything you would expect. But he forgave me after he forgave Jacob first. Because he could use this. Against me.
Where do you think Cole got the fodder for all his sexual fantasy stories?
He knew I liked it. He knew I wished he was Jake and he knew I wanted more. One bite, one taste of Jake-cake wasn't nearly enough. I wanted the whole plateful. Cole forgives too fucking easily.
I wasn't even looking for payback. I'm impossible to contain, and hard to love. Because I'm easily distracted by beauty just as much as everyone around me. And while they're all watching every move I make I am prone to huge life-altering mistakes. It's a history. It's a mess.
The timing. The timing is what destroys all hopes of redemption because it was perfect.
And as much as we both crave having a child that is part of us and what we have, in this case it would be better if Henry is Cole's biological son because it will prevent a fresh helping of pain. We learned our lesson. These admissions, both so publically now and privately become a tangible proof to us that we didn't go through all of this for nothing. We're taking our knocks for not being good people when we were supposed to be. I will take being judged because oh my god, he is so worth it. No one will ever possibly come close to understanding these feelings I hold for Jacob. That deflects the harsh judgement of those around me. For once in my life my heart is kevlar. I am impervious to your derision. You can't hurt me with your supposition anymore.
No, it wasn't a crush.
No, it wasn't boredom.
No, it wasn't even opportunity.
It was love. I didn't expect it and neither did he but it happened in spite of everything I did to try and keep him away from me. I couldn't. I didn't want to. I never even made a half-assed attempt to be proper.
And I won't apologize for that any longer. Nope. Done. Letting it go. I don't believe there are any more secrets aside from whatever is contained within this envelope.
Now if nobody minds I'm going to go squeeze my eyes tightly closed and ball up my little fists and steady myself for the outcome here. Can't stop it now, we're on a roll here. With magnificent fallout. Magnificent.
Oh Christ, listen to what's on the stereo:
Heaven bent to take my hand
And lead me through the fire
Be the long awaited answer
To a long and painful fight
Truth be told I've tried my best
But somewhere along the way
I got caught up in all there was to offer
And the cost was so much more than I could bear
Jacob will be home for lunch and we'll open it then. No, I'm going to call him now because I can't breathe anymore and maybe I shouldn't have posted.
Wish us luck.
The first step would be to acquiesce and stop challenging the past, no, Bridget?
Jacob is at his office. The kids are playing up in the playroom and I just sat down to write for an hour and finish a pot of coffee and the doorbell rings and in the space of thirty seconds I am reeling again. And possibly more. Sitting in my lap is an envelope with our test results. Couriered over because we arranged to have them sent over rather than waiting and having to go to more appointments. I didn't expect it until Monday. I'm not opening this envelope. I want the cameras off. This is not reality TV, it's my fucking life.
Last week: A blow up an hour after we came back from the lab, in which Jacob lost his patience for my endless troubled chatter about how Henry couldn't possibly be his son brought it back around to reality.
Bridget. Stop.
Can't.
It's not such a big secret. The people who need to know, know and we can't change any of it.
It shouldn't have to count.
But it does and you have to admit it to yourself.
Again, Can't.
What if he's mine?
Then we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
We can cross it now. We need to deal with this.
We need to wait. Otherwise we waste time talking and find out our fears are unfounded. Then what?
Then at least everything is out in the open and we go forward. We keep getting held back by loose ends and unresolved arguments.
No, we're not being held back or we wouldn't have gone and had those tests.
And around it goes in a vicious circle that will cease today. Jacob is half-paralyzed with anxiety over this. It's so hard for him you can't even imagine. After everything there is still so much hell to go through and it's awful. It feels so awful and yet I feel the same paralysis. I really wish I could hold someone's hand right now. I'm going to throw up.
What would you do if you suddenly discovered a child you knew was yours?
What have you missed?
Sure Jacob has been here, he's been around, he's changed diapers and rocked babies to sleep and comforted and walked for miles and hours with the little reflux king and he's bought things and been there for first steps and fun times, and been the best godfather ever.
He's been out of sight for months when we moved, when he travelled, when things were okay and Cole and I called a moratorium on hurting each other and tried to be a better family.
He hasn't been there for ultrasounds, for frightening emergency c-sections, or well baby checkups and for the neverending dead-of-night feedings. He hasn't been able to stand there and look at Henry and say "That is my son." and feel the pride that only a father feels. He hasn't been able to claim that role. No one can give that time back to him if we find out he is Henry's father. Regrets I wish to bury forever and I can't.
Oh, but Bridge, you were so convinced that he couldn't possibly be Henry's father. (Just like I talked myself into being happily married to Cole. Wow, I'm that good. Guileful. Huh.)
No, sorry, I'm only convinced he cannot be Ruth's father.
Henry? Oh, there's a very tiny small possibility. A loss of control. We lost our fucking minds for around five minutes that resulted in nothing except for, well, admitting we lost control. A moment where we couldn't step away from each other so we stepped in closer until we fit together like a puzzle that was finally complete. Fireworks all the way around. Too close. Too hot. Too much. So right. So fucking right.
What in the hell are we doing?
We stopped before we had barely started and we never acknowledged it out loud to each other ever again until earlier this week. Jake took the high road and I walked the low alone.
That alone is where the outside chance comes from and why I can never let myself off the hook for being a bad wife. Rolling over in bed and finding Jacob there because he fell asleep sitting up watching me sleep because I was so damned tired. This was the morning after the hayride and that kiss because when I composed myself and finally drove back to the cottage and sent the neighbor home and got Ruth tucked in that night, Jake showed up, full of apologies for forcing himself on me. He wasn't to be blamed-I didn't stop him, did I?
He asked me if I really did love him.
Of course I did. What a stupid question and I'm in so far over my head I may as well fall apart, which I did. I cried so hard and he held me. When I woke up he was still there. I started to ask him if he was okay and he kissed me instead. Again.
We're just full of great ideas, you know.
It felt so good to be in his arms. From that moment on there would never be another place I ever want to be more than right there. The kissing led to shirts being pulled up and jeans being pulled off, and oh my god what the hell are we doing? But it was five minutes of heaven before we remembered that I was married and not to him and we stopped cold. Reluctantly. Hesitantly. Nothing was completed, if you know what I mean. Bittersweet? That doesn't come close to describing those minutes.
But technically, it counts on all fronts. I cheated. I cheated but was cheated out of my cheating by our collective conscience and so I allowed myself to pretend it never happened. But it counts as the outside chance that Henry could be Jacob's son. I took sex education. Withdrawal? Doesn't make you safe. It only makes it easier to sleep at night because you can say you never did the deed, my friend. Bridget, you're a liar.
Cole knew. Because I had to tell him. I didn't tell him about the kiss because I didn't want him to know about it for some crazy reason I still don't understand but I did tell him I slept with Jake. I didn't want to tell him, Jake wanted to and he said if I didn't, he would have to. Jake was never afraid of Cole, Jake is only afraid of himself. So I did, verbally tripping and visibly shaking. Cole was not surprised, only angry, everything you would expect. But he forgave me after he forgave Jacob first. Because he could use this. Against me.
Where do you think Cole got the fodder for all his sexual fantasy stories?
He knew I liked it. He knew I wished he was Jake and he knew I wanted more. One bite, one taste of Jake-cake wasn't nearly enough. I wanted the whole plateful. Cole forgives too fucking easily.
I wasn't even looking for payback. I'm impossible to contain, and hard to love. Because I'm easily distracted by beauty just as much as everyone around me. And while they're all watching every move I make I am prone to huge life-altering mistakes. It's a history. It's a mess.
The timing. The timing is what destroys all hopes of redemption because it was perfect.
And as much as we both crave having a child that is part of us and what we have, in this case it would be better if Henry is Cole's biological son because it will prevent a fresh helping of pain. We learned our lesson. These admissions, both so publically now and privately become a tangible proof to us that we didn't go through all of this for nothing. We're taking our knocks for not being good people when we were supposed to be. I will take being judged because oh my god, he is so worth it. No one will ever possibly come close to understanding these feelings I hold for Jacob. That deflects the harsh judgement of those around me. For once in my life my heart is kevlar. I am impervious to your derision. You can't hurt me with your supposition anymore.
No, it wasn't a crush.
No, it wasn't boredom.
No, it wasn't even opportunity.
It was love. I didn't expect it and neither did he but it happened in spite of everything I did to try and keep him away from me. I couldn't. I didn't want to. I never even made a half-assed attempt to be proper.
And I won't apologize for that any longer. Nope. Done. Letting it go. I don't believe there are any more secrets aside from whatever is contained within this envelope.
Now if nobody minds I'm going to go squeeze my eyes tightly closed and ball up my little fists and steady myself for the outcome here. Can't stop it now, we're on a roll here. With magnificent fallout. Magnificent.
Oh Christ, listen to what's on the stereo:
Heaven bent to take my hand
And lead me through the fire
Be the long awaited answer
To a long and painful fight
Truth be told I've tried my best
But somewhere along the way
I got caught up in all there was to offer
And the cost was so much more than I could bear
Jacob will be home for lunch and we'll open it then. No, I'm going to call him now because I can't breathe anymore and maybe I shouldn't have posted.
Wish us luck.
Thursday, 6 July 2006
Coleridge over coffee, the Renaissance man part II.
Did you think I would leave you hanging with a snippet about chocolate for the whole day?
Don't be so silly.
It's course night. Jacob is teaching a course at the university this summer. I mentioned here that he was a little nervous about it. He has no fears of public speaking so what has him tense is the subject matter.
Romantic Poetry.
You have know it hits close to home when he didn't even have to look very hard to come up with poems for the course material. He had his favorites all picked out. He's been quoting them to me for years. He can stand up on the church roof with his hammer all summer and recite dozens of Shakespeare's sonnets and drive everyone crazy, in between the neverending singing, of course. He uses the poems in weddings and usually has a selection at hand if couples want one printed on their service bulletins or used within their ceremony. He always knows the perfect one for any particular couple.
He's nervous because he has to incorporate the history in with it-the broader scope on how society and politics enters into the dialogues created by the poets of those centuries in which their best works were created. Or something. No small potatoes, that task.
However, he's going for history-lite because the poems themselves are to be the centerpiece. Here's a snippet of what I hear over coffee each morning, a willing assistant/victim in Jacob's master plan to single-handedly revive and rekindle romance in the universe. Romance as dispensed by gruff, serious men with hearts of pure gold (or jello possibly). He's doing this for fun.
These four are my favorites:
At Last
At last, when all the summer shine
That warmed life's early hours is past,
Your loving fingers seek for mine
And hold them close, at last, óat last!
Not oft the robin comes to build
Its nest upon the leafless bough
By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,
But you, dear heart, you love me now.
Though there are shadows on my brow
And furrows on my cheek, in truth,
The marks where Time's remorseless plough
Broke up the blooming sward of Youth,
Though fled is every girlish grace
Might win or hold a lover's vow,
Despite my sad and faded face,
And darkened heart, you love me now!
I count no more my wasted tears;
They left no echo of their fall;
I mourn no more my lonesome years;
This blessed hour atones for all.
I fear not all that Time or Fate
May bring to burden heart or brow,
Strong in the love that came so late,
Our souls shall keep it always now!
~ Elizabeth Akers Allen
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, hills and fields,
Woods or steepy mountains yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.
The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
~Christopher Marlowe
I loved her for that she was beautiful
I loved her for that she was beautiful;
And that to me she seem'd to be all Nature,
And all varieties of things in one:
Would set at night in clouds of tears, and rise
All light and laughter in the morning; fear
No petty customs nor appearances;
But think what others only dream'd about;
And say what others did but think; and do
What others dared not do: so pure withal
In soul; in heart and act such conscious yet
Such perfect innocence, she made round her
A halo of delight. 'Twas these which won me;ó
And that she never school'd within her breast
One thought or feeling, but gave holiday
To all; and that she made all even mine
In the communion of love: and we
Grew like each other, for we loved each other;
She, mild and generous as the air in spring;
And I, like earth all budding out with love.
~Philip James Bailey
Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast as Thou Art
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou artó
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient sleepless eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors;
No, yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever, or else swoon to death.
~John Keats
He writes his own as well but I'm not permitted to share any of them. In any event, what a lucky bunch of students. I feel like I'm auditing it now and it's been really educational. In between the starry-eyed adulation of listening to him deliver the lines, that is. My god, it's better than sex.
Don't be so silly.
It's course night. Jacob is teaching a course at the university this summer. I mentioned here that he was a little nervous about it. He has no fears of public speaking so what has him tense is the subject matter.
Romantic Poetry.
You have know it hits close to home when he didn't even have to look very hard to come up with poems for the course material. He had his favorites all picked out. He's been quoting them to me for years. He can stand up on the church roof with his hammer all summer and recite dozens of Shakespeare's sonnets and drive everyone crazy, in between the neverending singing, of course. He uses the poems in weddings and usually has a selection at hand if couples want one printed on their service bulletins or used within their ceremony. He always knows the perfect one for any particular couple.
He's nervous because he has to incorporate the history in with it-the broader scope on how society and politics enters into the dialogues created by the poets of those centuries in which their best works were created. Or something. No small potatoes, that task.
However, he's going for history-lite because the poems themselves are to be the centerpiece. Here's a snippet of what I hear over coffee each morning, a willing assistant/victim in Jacob's master plan to single-handedly revive and rekindle romance in the universe. Romance as dispensed by gruff, serious men with hearts of pure gold (or jello possibly). He's doing this for fun.
These four are my favorites:
At Last
At last, when all the summer shine
That warmed life's early hours is past,
Your loving fingers seek for mine
And hold them close, at last, óat last!
Not oft the robin comes to build
Its nest upon the leafless bough
By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,
But you, dear heart, you love me now.
Though there are shadows on my brow
And furrows on my cheek, in truth,
The marks where Time's remorseless plough
Broke up the blooming sward of Youth,
Though fled is every girlish grace
Might win or hold a lover's vow,
Despite my sad and faded face,
And darkened heart, you love me now!
I count no more my wasted tears;
They left no echo of their fall;
I mourn no more my lonesome years;
This blessed hour atones for all.
I fear not all that Time or Fate
May bring to burden heart or brow,
Strong in the love that came so late,
Our souls shall keep it always now!
~ Elizabeth Akers Allen
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, hills and fields,
Woods or steepy mountains yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.
The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
~Christopher Marlowe
I loved her for that she was beautiful
I loved her for that she was beautiful;
And that to me she seem'd to be all Nature,
And all varieties of things in one:
Would set at night in clouds of tears, and rise
All light and laughter in the morning; fear
No petty customs nor appearances;
But think what others only dream'd about;
And say what others did but think; and do
What others dared not do: so pure withal
In soul; in heart and act such conscious yet
Such perfect innocence, she made round her
A halo of delight. 'Twas these which won me;ó
And that she never school'd within her breast
One thought or feeling, but gave holiday
To all; and that she made all even mine
In the communion of love: and we
Grew like each other, for we loved each other;
She, mild and generous as the air in spring;
And I, like earth all budding out with love.
~Philip James Bailey
Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast as Thou Art
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou artó
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient sleepless eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors;
No, yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever, or else swoon to death.
~John Keats
He writes his own as well but I'm not permitted to share any of them. In any event, what a lucky bunch of students. I feel like I'm auditing it now and it's been really educational. In between the starry-eyed adulation of listening to him deliver the lines, that is. My god, it's better than sex.
Sweet tooth
Ruth has a memory like an elephant. If we bring home a box of cookies or a chocolate bar and put it in the cupboard she knows it's there and she'll ask about it until you tell her it isn't there anymore. The other day she was quite exasperated by the lack of chocolate snacks in the house. Jake offered her a granny smith apple. I suggested raisins or dried cranberries. Oh no. Not good enough for little Miss Ruth. Not good enough at all. The chocolate love appears to be genetic.
Who keeps taking all the chocolate then, Mommy?
Why, that would be the chocolate fairy, Ruth.
Who is the chocolate fairy?
She's a tiny brown fairy with wings and at night when we're asleep she pushes herself through the holes in the window screen and eats all the chocolate. She can't help herself, she loves chocolate so much.
Jacob?
Hmmm Ruthie?
Is Mommy the chocolate fairy?
Possibly, honey, possibly.
Who keeps taking all the chocolate then, Mommy?
Why, that would be the chocolate fairy, Ruth.
Who is the chocolate fairy?
She's a tiny brown fairy with wings and at night when we're asleep she pushes herself through the holes in the window screen and eats all the chocolate. She can't help herself, she loves chocolate so much.
Jacob?
Hmmm Ruthie?
Is Mommy the chocolate fairy?
Possibly, honey, possibly.
Wednesday, 5 July 2006
Betterment.
I've had so many requests for updates, I'll bring you up to speed on things.
First off, solo counseling is going well for me at last. Claus is a miracle worker and I get more out of my sessions with him than I ever thought possible. Onward and upward, Bridget. He thinks I'm doing well. I'm not bottling it up. In fact, I'm shaking it up and spraying it over the crowd like champagne at a boat launching. Well, that's my take on it, anyway. Would you believe I'm not nearly as fucked up as I thought I might be? I really thought I was a loose cannon, out of control emotionally but I have come to learn this is the best news ever. I'm a model patient. Take that, naysayers!
The kids go and see a children's counselor twice a month and are doing well. They play puppet shows and draw pictures and it's very light fare that will end when school starts. Ruth and Henry have a resiliency that I wish I posessed sometimes. We're parenting responsibly and the whole attack and changing teams (so to speak) has had a minimal impact. Thank GOD.
Jacob is doing well too. I didn't tell you he went for help too. His counselor tells me his progress is outstanding. Jake says he's learning how to deal with his residual feelings of helplessness and more importantly he's learning how to express anger efficiently and manage stress better. This man is a self-improvement machine. Maybe it helps that he is generally laid back as it is.
And oh yes, couples counseling. Because there's nothing like starting over from scratch when you have a decade of dysfunctional history under your belt and we're going to make sure we have everything we need and then some to make this work now, and in the future. Even couples who are head-over-heels in love have things they need to work through. Like not dropping arguments in the middle and other assorted leftover interactive bad habits we've acquired over the past ten years of holding each other at arms' length. Together we're profoundly beautiful and completely fucked up. But It's fixable. Very fixable. We'll make it right because we both want it so bad.
Momentum. Something you need when you're being dragged down on all other sides.
I can't really write updates about Cole. In part because I don't want to, and also because I was instructed not to because I might write something that makes me appear vindictive (! More. Swearing.) in the eyes of the court. Suffice it to say he's playing every card he has left. When we finally consented to the paternity testing earlier this week we were suprised to find out they actually wanted to test not only Henry but Ruth too. (Can you hear me swearing in my head? Because I am and it's loud.) So all four of us had cheek swabs taken and they had taken Cole's already and on Monday or Tuesday we'll get the results so stay tuned.
Physically I am a-okay. No more sling, no more wrapped torso. No visible bumps. My elbow gets sore after painting or sleeping on my arm but it's not so bad. I can move again and that's huge. I can pick Henry up without cringing or grinding. I healed very well and my doctor is very proud of me. Now I only have to fight the crushing fatigue, which overtakes me at the strangest times but that's the medication. They can only adjust it so much and then it does nothing. I have to live with it for now.
So there you go. The entire remainder of this year will be a whirlwind and we're living it one hour at a time. Momentum.
I am just a worthless liar. I am just an imbecile.
I will only complicate you. Trust in me and fall as well.
I will find a center in you. I will chew it up and leave.
I will work to elevate you, just enough to bring you down.
Mother mary, won't you whisper? Something but the past is done.
Why cant we not be sober? I just want to start this over.
Why cant we sleep forever? I just want to start this over.
First off, solo counseling is going well for me at last. Claus is a miracle worker and I get more out of my sessions with him than I ever thought possible. Onward and upward, Bridget. He thinks I'm doing well. I'm not bottling it up. In fact, I'm shaking it up and spraying it over the crowd like champagne at a boat launching. Well, that's my take on it, anyway. Would you believe I'm not nearly as fucked up as I thought I might be? I really thought I was a loose cannon, out of control emotionally but I have come to learn this is the best news ever. I'm a model patient. Take that, naysayers!
The kids go and see a children's counselor twice a month and are doing well. They play puppet shows and draw pictures and it's very light fare that will end when school starts. Ruth and Henry have a resiliency that I wish I posessed sometimes. We're parenting responsibly and the whole attack and changing teams (so to speak) has had a minimal impact. Thank GOD.
Jacob is doing well too. I didn't tell you he went for help too. His counselor tells me his progress is outstanding. Jake says he's learning how to deal with his residual feelings of helplessness and more importantly he's learning how to express anger efficiently and manage stress better. This man is a self-improvement machine. Maybe it helps that he is generally laid back as it is.
And oh yes, couples counseling. Because there's nothing like starting over from scratch when you have a decade of dysfunctional history under your belt and we're going to make sure we have everything we need and then some to make this work now, and in the future. Even couples who are head-over-heels in love have things they need to work through. Like not dropping arguments in the middle and other assorted leftover interactive bad habits we've acquired over the past ten years of holding each other at arms' length. Together we're profoundly beautiful and completely fucked up. But It's fixable. Very fixable. We'll make it right because we both want it so bad.
Momentum. Something you need when you're being dragged down on all other sides.
I can't really write updates about Cole. In part because I don't want to, and also because I was instructed not to because I might write something that makes me appear vindictive (! More. Swearing.) in the eyes of the court. Suffice it to say he's playing every card he has left. When we finally consented to the paternity testing earlier this week we were suprised to find out they actually wanted to test not only Henry but Ruth too. (Can you hear me swearing in my head? Because I am and it's loud.) So all four of us had cheek swabs taken and they had taken Cole's already and on Monday or Tuesday we'll get the results so stay tuned.
Physically I am a-okay. No more sling, no more wrapped torso. No visible bumps. My elbow gets sore after painting or sleeping on my arm but it's not so bad. I can move again and that's huge. I can pick Henry up without cringing or grinding. I healed very well and my doctor is very proud of me. Now I only have to fight the crushing fatigue, which overtakes me at the strangest times but that's the medication. They can only adjust it so much and then it does nothing. I have to live with it for now.
So there you go. The entire remainder of this year will be a whirlwind and we're living it one hour at a time. Momentum.
I am just a worthless liar. I am just an imbecile.
I will only complicate you. Trust in me and fall as well.
I will find a center in you. I will chew it up and leave.
I will work to elevate you, just enough to bring you down.
Mother mary, won't you whisper? Something but the past is done.
Why cant we not be sober? I just want to start this over.
Why cant we sleep forever? I just want to start this over.
Tuesday, 4 July 2006
Ten places I'd rather be.
Speeding up life is impossible. I alternate between wanting to be somewhere else, daydreaming about being somewhere else, and actively plotting to be somewhere else. This is in between wanting to perpetually wallow in misery. You bet.
I'm counting down the days before I can enjoy a long break away from waiting out court dates, waiting out tests, and waiting out the end of my divorce. Which will take forever. God, give me strength to get through the rest of this month because I can't do much more than that. Then it will all be done. Well, the hardest parts anyway.
So here's a silly list of ten places I would teleport to right now, if I could.
1. sea glass hunting on the south shore.
2. the lobster restaurant in Shediac. I don't know if it's still there.
3. Picking out fleeces somewhere in a field in New Zealand. Touring Ashford.
4. snowboarding at Blackcomb. Yessss.
5. frying my little lily-white ass on conrad's beach at Queensland.
6. riding horses in Utah. Possibly seducing Robert Redford and showing him how Canadian girls rope the wild ones. (Shhhh!)
7. On the garage roof replacing the shingles that blew off in the wind that most definitely was not a tornado. Right. Strangely tempting but unspokenly forbidden.
8. Drinking overly sweet hungarian wine in Budapest with my ballerina friend.
9. NOT listening to Jake figure out the Beatles' Across the Universe on guitar. If he starts singing the Jai guru deva om part I'm so out of here. Oh too late. DEAR GOD.
10. In Wal-Mart loving up to the Tassimo. I would have sex with that coffee machine. But I hate Wal-mart. So the odds of me dropping trou in the small appliance aisle are pretty unlikely.
Instead I have some painting I want to do and then I'm going for a swim in the coffeepot.
And a big Happy Independence Day to all my American Friends! Hope your day is full of fun and sun and love and harmony. Enjoy!
I'm counting down the days before I can enjoy a long break away from waiting out court dates, waiting out tests, and waiting out the end of my divorce. Which will take forever. God, give me strength to get through the rest of this month because I can't do much more than that. Then it will all be done. Well, the hardest parts anyway.
So here's a silly list of ten places I would teleport to right now, if I could.
1. sea glass hunting on the south shore.
2. the lobster restaurant in Shediac. I don't know if it's still there.
3. Picking out fleeces somewhere in a field in New Zealand. Touring Ashford.
4. snowboarding at Blackcomb. Yessss.
5. frying my little lily-white ass on conrad's beach at Queensland.
6. riding horses in Utah. Possibly seducing Robert Redford and showing him how Canadian girls rope the wild ones. (Shhhh!)
7. On the garage roof replacing the shingles that blew off in the wind that most definitely was not a tornado. Right. Strangely tempting but unspokenly forbidden.
8. Drinking overly sweet hungarian wine in Budapest with my ballerina friend.
9. NOT listening to Jake figure out the Beatles' Across the Universe on guitar. If he starts singing the Jai guru deva om part I'm so out of here. Oh too late. DEAR GOD.
10. In Wal-Mart loving up to the Tassimo. I would have sex with that coffee machine. But I hate Wal-mart. So the odds of me dropping trou in the small appliance aisle are pretty unlikely.
Instead I have some painting I want to do and then I'm going for a swim in the coffeepot.
And a big Happy Independence Day to all my American Friends! Hope your day is full of fun and sun and love and harmony. Enjoy!
Monday, 3 July 2006
For the moment.
So maybe letting go is what makes it better. If I'm not reigning in the
wild personality glitches and emotional binges for some reason
nothing...happens. All this post traumatic stress bullshit just ebbs and
flows like the tide and I have no control and I thought that was what I
needed. Control. I looked and there it was.
I can push and shove Jake so hard and he doesn't budge. Yet he'll stand there taking none of my bullshit and simultaneously saying he'll be here as many times as I need to hear it and I love him to death for it.
He said Let it go, Bridge.
And I did. I just said it and left it there. And we're all still vertical. No one's insulted, no one's had enough, no one went off the deep end or fell apart. And I took very deep breaths and he kissed my forehead and just held his lips there, against my skin. He matched my breathing. I closed my eyes and the neverending adrenaline rush and fear suddenly wasn't there anymore. Would it be asking too much to just pray that it holds?
And on a good note, we totally missed today's date. Jacob is officially divorced. A long road for him that started over a year ago when he made up his mind that he couldn't and wouldn't live without me any longer. I can hardly believe it.
I can push and shove Jake so hard and he doesn't budge. Yet he'll stand there taking none of my bullshit and simultaneously saying he'll be here as many times as I need to hear it and I love him to death for it.
He said Let it go, Bridge.
And I did. I just said it and left it there. And we're all still vertical. No one's insulted, no one's had enough, no one went off the deep end or fell apart. And I took very deep breaths and he kissed my forehead and just held his lips there, against my skin. He matched my breathing. I closed my eyes and the neverending adrenaline rush and fear suddenly wasn't there anymore. Would it be asking too much to just pray that it holds?
And on a good note, we totally missed today's date. Jacob is officially divorced. A long road for him that started over a year ago when he made up his mind that he couldn't and wouldn't live without me any longer. I can hardly believe it.
Therapy homework.
Shield your eyes while I quietly implode, okay?
Excuse me if I can't explain why I wake up wanting to hurt myself. Total despair and I don't know why. Sure you have the answers for everything. I don't and until I (I, do you hear me?) find them there isn't any point to validating me like some sort of mental patient. I see it. I see everything. I know how it appears. I realize it doesn't make sense and yet everyone around me continues to allow it. It will pass, things will get better. You won't feel out of control anymore, they say. And then someone changes the medicine again. New hours, new routines, new feelings and it overwhelms and Bridget loses it and gets to sleep for a whole day all over again.
Only this time she didn't sleep so well or so much and she woke up feeling dangerous.
And I'm over here hiding in a tiny corner of me and I don't like it. I can't see anything and I'm afraid. No, not afraid of the dark, afraid of myself, don't you see that? I can't shut it off.
I'm not going to hurt myself but it's right there, the feelings. The easy way out. The end to all this bullshit. All the pain, all the looking up to see you staring at me with that equal threshold of pain radiating from your own eyes because no, you can't fix this. You just can't and wanting it so badly makes absolutely no difference in the world.
And I'm sorry for this but here it is. You going off to call the doctor and ask for help or advice doesn't make a difference. They don't know me. They're going to get paid whether I feel better or not. There's no stakes for them. Things were better when you were calling the shots and frankly I don't care if you felt you had to give up control to save face, to prevent the comparisons. They weren't fair anyway and why you listened when you should have kept going is a mystery.
A mystery I solved. It was me. You were afraid I wouldn't get anywhere so you passed me off to the professionals and agreed to stay close to observe and assist and support and all the other things you do so well. You want me back. The happy girl. Not this. You doubted yourself.
Don't do it with me. I don't need the second guessing. I need everything you gave me before. Take off the gloves, throw away the psychobabble and the drugs and just take my goddamned hand and make sure I have distractions. The rest will fix itself.
I promise.
And even if I say I'm going to hurl myself off the top of a building, I'm not. Are you mad? Ruth and Henry only have us now. And I have you. And I wouldn't give any of you up willingly so don't be scared of my words. They're just stupid words. I have millions of them, and if I can ever find the wherewithall to sit down and sort them out and arrange them perfectly I will have all my answers and then I'll feel better. I know it.
In the meantime, can I exchange this? This pain? This unreal intangible pain in my heart that doesn't ever let up? The physical pain was so easy. Child's play that I could gauge and work with. I work hard, I did everything I was told and then I healed. I felt better. I can move again. I'm not wrapped up anymore. I'm not marked by his hands. I can let that go. So why won't this work? Why won't the intangible pain let up even for a moment? How do you presume to understand how your soul can flinch, a visible reaction to an invisible terror? It's crushing me.
Because I've been a wife, a compliment, a trophy, a toy for so long I don't know how not to be, that's how. Told how to dress, how to think, how to feel and what to do. The freedom of now is overwhelming. I am overwhelming now. A million miles a minute headlong into everything and I kick myself hard every time I want to ask for help or defer on a decision because I can't make it. I don't know which end is up.
You, you stand there with the patience of Job, and it's so fucking maddening. It makes me want to scream because it's taking too long and you don't really want this. You have no idea who is going to walk out the other side of this or even if there's a promise that anyone will ever walk out at all.
Yet still you stand there waiting, and helping, being steady and keeping the kids happy while Mommy goes to her room and cries herself to sleep without ever knowing why. Manning your post simply because you promised you would and you'll lift them up and be the only constant good thing in a world that sometimes seems to be filled with night-black snarling tangles of rage and they're coming straight at me. You can only hold them off for so long. And clutching me to your chest while you fight one-handed isn't going to make for any easy victories. Not this time around. That's right about how positively fucked up I am. The worst thing is you alternate between wanting to do this all for me, and shoving me forward and insisting I do it myself. Just when I get going and I feel like I'm getting somewhere something else happens and you step in and take over again. In the non-control way, of course. Letting me think I'm doing it all myself and I'm possibly as dumb as I look because I prefer it that way. Honestly. Heartbreakingly.
Please. Just fix me. Because I'm not having any luck.
So everyone wanted to know how Bridget feels today.
Aren't you sorry you asked?
Excuse me if I can't explain why I wake up wanting to hurt myself. Total despair and I don't know why. Sure you have the answers for everything. I don't and until I (I, do you hear me?) find them there isn't any point to validating me like some sort of mental patient. I see it. I see everything. I know how it appears. I realize it doesn't make sense and yet everyone around me continues to allow it. It will pass, things will get better. You won't feel out of control anymore, they say. And then someone changes the medicine again. New hours, new routines, new feelings and it overwhelms and Bridget loses it and gets to sleep for a whole day all over again.
Only this time she didn't sleep so well or so much and she woke up feeling dangerous.
And I'm over here hiding in a tiny corner of me and I don't like it. I can't see anything and I'm afraid. No, not afraid of the dark, afraid of myself, don't you see that? I can't shut it off.
I'm not going to hurt myself but it's right there, the feelings. The easy way out. The end to all this bullshit. All the pain, all the looking up to see you staring at me with that equal threshold of pain radiating from your own eyes because no, you can't fix this. You just can't and wanting it so badly makes absolutely no difference in the world.
And I'm sorry for this but here it is. You going off to call the doctor and ask for help or advice doesn't make a difference. They don't know me. They're going to get paid whether I feel better or not. There's no stakes for them. Things were better when you were calling the shots and frankly I don't care if you felt you had to give up control to save face, to prevent the comparisons. They weren't fair anyway and why you listened when you should have kept going is a mystery.
A mystery I solved. It was me. You were afraid I wouldn't get anywhere so you passed me off to the professionals and agreed to stay close to observe and assist and support and all the other things you do so well. You want me back. The happy girl. Not this. You doubted yourself.
Don't do it with me. I don't need the second guessing. I need everything you gave me before. Take off the gloves, throw away the psychobabble and the drugs and just take my goddamned hand and make sure I have distractions. The rest will fix itself.
I promise.
And even if I say I'm going to hurl myself off the top of a building, I'm not. Are you mad? Ruth and Henry only have us now. And I have you. And I wouldn't give any of you up willingly so don't be scared of my words. They're just stupid words. I have millions of them, and if I can ever find the wherewithall to sit down and sort them out and arrange them perfectly I will have all my answers and then I'll feel better. I know it.
In the meantime, can I exchange this? This pain? This unreal intangible pain in my heart that doesn't ever let up? The physical pain was so easy. Child's play that I could gauge and work with. I work hard, I did everything I was told and then I healed. I felt better. I can move again. I'm not wrapped up anymore. I'm not marked by his hands. I can let that go. So why won't this work? Why won't the intangible pain let up even for a moment? How do you presume to understand how your soul can flinch, a visible reaction to an invisible terror? It's crushing me.
Because I've been a wife, a compliment, a trophy, a toy for so long I don't know how not to be, that's how. Told how to dress, how to think, how to feel and what to do. The freedom of now is overwhelming. I am overwhelming now. A million miles a minute headlong into everything and I kick myself hard every time I want to ask for help or defer on a decision because I can't make it. I don't know which end is up.
You, you stand there with the patience of Job, and it's so fucking maddening. It makes me want to scream because it's taking too long and you don't really want this. You have no idea who is going to walk out the other side of this or even if there's a promise that anyone will ever walk out at all.
Yet still you stand there waiting, and helping, being steady and keeping the kids happy while Mommy goes to her room and cries herself to sleep without ever knowing why. Manning your post simply because you promised you would and you'll lift them up and be the only constant good thing in a world that sometimes seems to be filled with night-black snarling tangles of rage and they're coming straight at me. You can only hold them off for so long. And clutching me to your chest while you fight one-handed isn't going to make for any easy victories. Not this time around. That's right about how positively fucked up I am. The worst thing is you alternate between wanting to do this all for me, and shoving me forward and insisting I do it myself. Just when I get going and I feel like I'm getting somewhere something else happens and you step in and take over again. In the non-control way, of course. Letting me think I'm doing it all myself and I'm possibly as dumb as I look because I prefer it that way. Honestly. Heartbreakingly.
Please. Just fix me. Because I'm not having any luck.
So everyone wanted to know how Bridget feels today.
Aren't you sorry you asked?
Sunday, 2 July 2006
Softly, slowly (the hearing post).
(This post is going to be awfully esoteric for most. The revelation that Jacob deliberately whispers words to me that I never hear was at once profound and heartbreaking to discover. And it has been going on for years. YEARS. For the record, Cole never cared if I heard him or not. He helped me pretend I was perfect. On the outside.)
I have a theory: There are two kinds of people in this world-those who get songs stuck in their heads and subsequently play them for WEEKS until the urge wanes, and those who don't.
Jacob and I are both of the first persuasion. Which makes for some entertaining and frustrating moments because the one with the stuck song will play it so much it invariably winds up in the head of the one who was doing just fine thank you.
Enter Elton John and Bernie Taupin. Masterful songwriters. Hello, we're children of the early seventies. Because, well, Tiny Dancer. One of Jake's favorites.
That song that will go down in our history as changing my mind on my hearing. A tremendous feat this many years into a hearing loss, don't you think? Especially since I've been listening to this one song my entire life. On 8-track, vinyl, cassette, CD and finally iTunes. If that doesn't prove I love it I don't know what would. I just never knew most of the lyrics.
Which is funny and cute but really dumb all at once. We were slow dancing in the kitchen a few weeks ago with the CD Madman Across the Water playing.
I love to dance, what can I say?
Jacob was singing Tiny Dancer, right into my ear so I could hear the words clearly. He got to the bridge and sang "and you can't hear me...when I say softly... slowly..." and I just stopped and stared at him. He smiled and twirled me around and kept singing and finished the song and then he played it again. And sang it again. He explained the significance for him, how often he says things, talks to me knowing I don't have a clue. I don't even know.
That touched me right down to the bottom of my soul.
Right there it became Bridget's song. My song. (Without even tiny Bridget dancing references required. He is 6'4", I am 5'2" with heels. Tiny is an apt description.)
Jake said he's always thought of me when he plays that song, ever since he found out the hard way about my hearing loss. I try not to tell people until I'm in a difficult one-on-one situation, because it compounds the doll treatment thing, which I hate. Once he became a regular fixture in my life he picked a fight with me out of the blue one evening. I was in the kitchen and I asked him if he wanted a drink and then I came to the door and stared at him, waiting for his answer. He was short with me. For the first time.
Why do you do that Bridget?
Do what?
Ask me everything twice?
I didn't hear your answer, Jake.
You never hear my answers though.
I don't hear much of anything.
What?
Are you making fun of me?
No, explain this to me. Please?
I lost most of my hearing. Put on those headphones and talk to me. That's what I hear, Jake.
Why don't you wear a hearing aid?
I don't want one. I don't need one.
But you do. Wouldn't it make it easier?
Make what easier?
Life?
No, life isn't hard. (<---I actually said that. How ridiculous.)
Wow.
Wow what?
Wow, I'm surprised. Actually I'm not. It makes perfect sense. I've been endeared to your head tilting for a while now. This explains a lot. The gesturing. The facial expressions that are so funny when you're trying to concentrate on listening. The writing. Constantly. Aw, Bridge. But Cole doesn't even....
(I cut him off here) Just don't make a big deal of it, okay?
It is a big deal. It makes you more adorable.
Jacob, not now.
Just saying.
Shh.
So since I know, am I supposed to do anything differently?
Yes, answer my questions twice without complaining. No. Seriously, just make sure if you want to know if I heard you make eye contact or it's mostly useless. Oh and rescue me if it's a noisy place. I'll be lost otherwise.
Beautiful.
Okay, stop it now.
It augments what I love about you.
Jake. Knock it off. Cole's outside.
Is it genetic?
No. Ruth has been tested and she's perfect.
So are you and I can't believe Cole. Does he acknowledge you at all?
Enough Jake.
That answers the question, Bridge.
He cultivated a long-running argument on the subject of my hearing after that because he wanted me to not have to work so damned hard to do something other people don't think about. He. just. fucking. cared. When no one else really did.
Now? Jacob has no shame, he tells everyone about it now. Absolutely everyone. The mailman. The grocery clerk. He's just trying to make things as easy as possible. Bless his heart.
And once I left Cole, Jacob instantly found a most beautiful way of getting my attention that I have mentioned before. He cradles my face in his hands, he looks into my eyes so that he knows I hear him. And frankly, as much as so many of my reasons against hearing aids were dismissed, that one thing, when he puts his hand on my face and while he's talking he absently rubs his thumb along my bottom lip. Well, that's not something I want to give up EVER and I fear that once I can hear him better he'll stop doing it. I don't want him to stop doing that. Ever. In a million years. Never ever ever.
So if Tiny Dancer wasn't stuck in my head before, it sure is now. And I know Jacob is still whispering things to me when he thinks I'm not paying attention.
I have a theory: There are two kinds of people in this world-those who get songs stuck in their heads and subsequently play them for WEEKS until the urge wanes, and those who don't.
Jacob and I are both of the first persuasion. Which makes for some entertaining and frustrating moments because the one with the stuck song will play it so much it invariably winds up in the head of the one who was doing just fine thank you.
Enter Elton John and Bernie Taupin. Masterful songwriters. Hello, we're children of the early seventies. Because, well, Tiny Dancer. One of Jake's favorites.
That song that will go down in our history as changing my mind on my hearing. A tremendous feat this many years into a hearing loss, don't you think? Especially since I've been listening to this one song my entire life. On 8-track, vinyl, cassette, CD and finally iTunes. If that doesn't prove I love it I don't know what would. I just never knew most of the lyrics.
Which is funny and cute but really dumb all at once. We were slow dancing in the kitchen a few weeks ago with the CD Madman Across the Water playing.
I love to dance, what can I say?
Jacob was singing Tiny Dancer, right into my ear so I could hear the words clearly. He got to the bridge and sang "and you can't hear me...when I say softly... slowly..." and I just stopped and stared at him. He smiled and twirled me around and kept singing and finished the song and then he played it again. And sang it again. He explained the significance for him, how often he says things, talks to me knowing I don't have a clue. I don't even know.
That touched me right down to the bottom of my soul.
Right there it became Bridget's song. My song. (Without even tiny Bridget dancing references required. He is 6'4", I am 5'2" with heels. Tiny is an apt description.)
Jake said he's always thought of me when he plays that song, ever since he found out the hard way about my hearing loss. I try not to tell people until I'm in a difficult one-on-one situation, because it compounds the doll treatment thing, which I hate. Once he became a regular fixture in my life he picked a fight with me out of the blue one evening. I was in the kitchen and I asked him if he wanted a drink and then I came to the door and stared at him, waiting for his answer. He was short with me. For the first time.
Why do you do that Bridget?
Do what?
Ask me everything twice?
I didn't hear your answer, Jake.
You never hear my answers though.
I don't hear much of anything.
What?
Are you making fun of me?
No, explain this to me. Please?
I lost most of my hearing. Put on those headphones and talk to me. That's what I hear, Jake.
Why don't you wear a hearing aid?
I don't want one. I don't need one.
But you do. Wouldn't it make it easier?
Make what easier?
Life?
No, life isn't hard. (<---I actually said that. How ridiculous.)
Wow.
Wow what?
Wow, I'm surprised. Actually I'm not. It makes perfect sense. I've been endeared to your head tilting for a while now. This explains a lot. The gesturing. The facial expressions that are so funny when you're trying to concentrate on listening. The writing. Constantly. Aw, Bridge. But Cole doesn't even....
(I cut him off here) Just don't make a big deal of it, okay?
It is a big deal. It makes you more adorable.
Jacob, not now.
Just saying.
Shh.
So since I know, am I supposed to do anything differently?
Yes, answer my questions twice without complaining. No. Seriously, just make sure if you want to know if I heard you make eye contact or it's mostly useless. Oh and rescue me if it's a noisy place. I'll be lost otherwise.
Beautiful.
Okay, stop it now.
It augments what I love about you.
Jake. Knock it off. Cole's outside.
Is it genetic?
No. Ruth has been tested and she's perfect.
So are you and I can't believe Cole. Does he acknowledge you at all?
Enough Jake.
That answers the question, Bridge.
He cultivated a long-running argument on the subject of my hearing after that because he wanted me to not have to work so damned hard to do something other people don't think about. He. just. fucking. cared. When no one else really did.
Now? Jacob has no shame, he tells everyone about it now. Absolutely everyone. The mailman. The grocery clerk. He's just trying to make things as easy as possible. Bless his heart.
And once I left Cole, Jacob instantly found a most beautiful way of getting my attention that I have mentioned before. He cradles my face in his hands, he looks into my eyes so that he knows I hear him. And frankly, as much as so many of my reasons against hearing aids were dismissed, that one thing, when he puts his hand on my face and while he's talking he absently rubs his thumb along my bottom lip. Well, that's not something I want to give up EVER and I fear that once I can hear him better he'll stop doing it. I don't want him to stop doing that. Ever. In a million years. Never ever ever.
So if Tiny Dancer wasn't stuck in my head before, it sure is now. And I know Jacob is still whispering things to me when he thinks I'm not paying attention.
Saturday, 1 July 2006
Delayed gratification.
If there is one thing I do very well, it's get pregnant. Almost too easily. When Cole and I decided to have children it happened instantaneously. The running joke used to be that all he had to do was snap his fingers and I'd be pregnant. That was one of the (many) reasons I never cheated on Cole, despite being given tremendous opportunity. He had a vasectomy after Henry was born. God only knows what would have happened if Jacob had that power too.
And again I'm not going to entertain the speculation with that, because..we never. I mean, Henry isn't Jacob's biological child. Unless babies come from wishes.
Truthfully I do wish Henry was Jake's. I wish they both were. The lawyer suggested we have testing because she doesn't even really believe us and she said if there's any outside chance he could be we need to know now. Henry looks like Jake. They have the same hair, same attitude. Ruth is all Cole. She looks like me but she has his personality. We haven't decided on the test yet.
But anyways, I'm not pregnant. I got the news this morning when my period arrived and ruined hopes for this month anyway. Which kind of blew my plans for my post today because it filled my mind. I have to promise myself I won't get my hopes up every month .
So tomorrow I'll have to regale you with the incredibly cheesy story of how Jacob managed to change my mind on the hearing issues. It's very sweet. Cheesily adorable. You've been warned. I'm already smiling again. I need a lift, too many upsetting posts lately.
Have a wonderful day and Happy Canada Day to all!
And again I'm not going to entertain the speculation with that, because..we never. I mean, Henry isn't Jacob's biological child. Unless babies come from wishes.
Truthfully I do wish Henry was Jake's. I wish they both were. The lawyer suggested we have testing because she doesn't even really believe us and she said if there's any outside chance he could be we need to know now. Henry looks like Jake. They have the same hair, same attitude. Ruth is all Cole. She looks like me but she has his personality. We haven't decided on the test yet.
But anyways, I'm not pregnant. I got the news this morning when my period arrived and ruined hopes for this month anyway. Which kind of blew my plans for my post today because it filled my mind. I have to promise myself I won't get my hopes up every month .
So tomorrow I'll have to regale you with the incredibly cheesy story of how Jacob managed to change my mind on the hearing issues. It's very sweet. Cheesily adorable. You've been warned. I'm already smiling again. I need a lift, too many upsetting posts lately.
Have a wonderful day and Happy Canada Day to all!
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