1. she whispers while she wanders around the kitchen, looking for a spoon. she pushes pudgy fingers in the drawer, groping for her treasured utensil. balancing a pint of cherry flavored ice cream in the crook of her arm, she glows when the spoon sparkles at her from the drainer in the sink. she picks it up and examines it carefully, the way it shines, how the cool silver feels against her fingertips. she waddles into the living room, where her doting husband sits, his ice cream and spoon already in hand. she snuggles up next to him on the scratchy couch. she thanks him for driving all the way across town at this ungodly hour just to get her ice cream. it was cold outside, a huge snowstorm had made it's way into their little bubble of a life. she was hoping that the baby wouldn't decide to come when the roads were bad because she would be nervous enough as it was. outside, the darkness enveloped their entire yard, her garden, the cars, the cats, the garage, and sealed it with a frigid kiss. 2. weeks ago, when her body was thinner and she was still in summer clothes, a sweltering august evening produced the moment of conception. they'd talked about the possibility of another child, but it wasn't until she looked at him and felt her wetness creep out from some forgotten part of her anatomy, that the possibility became a reality. they didn't talk, just hastily undressed, thankful to be in their skin on a night when it was still eighty degrees outside in the early hours of the morning. the cool, crisp sheets of their bed couldn't compete with the cold shower that would come after. his hand touched her and it burnt, she forgot about breathing and let herself fly. when his eyes asked her if she was certain, she placed her mouth on his and told him with a lovers code that yes, she was certain, and afterwards, when the cool water bristled her skin, she looked down at herself and she knew. |