Thursday, May 21, 2009
My Brilliant Life In Casa
This is an embarrassingly long time to go in between posts but I promise I have good reason for it. I have been sick, sick as a dog, for oh about 13 weeks now. I'm just going to jump right in here, rip off the band aide and stuff like that. I am counting my sickness in weeks because that is how pregnant I am. Of course minus the two weeks added to conception. The funny thing about that is that two weeks before conception I was not in this country and hadn't seen the babies' (yes, plural) daddy in about 8 years!
So There you go, pregnant, in Casablanca with Youssef's babies. Twins, two of em'. What do you know? How am I you ask? Happy, elated, finally going to be a mom. Expectant, nauseous all the time, thankful.
There are certain things that I have been saying over and over again for a very long time now. Things like, I want to be a mother but i want to leave the US before that, things like I want to have children in a city where I can walk to the market everyday and don't have to drive. Things like, i want to give my children the gift of speaking more than English fluently from birth. Well, I get all of that here. Plus a husband.
He who labors for me in the kitchen on the nights when the choice is either lie still or puke. He who secures a different car for every doctor's visit because we don’t have one yet. He who tells me I am more beautiful than I have ever been. He who said, "be my companion, please". He who I loved first, always and will love last. That is certain. He who picked me up at the airport and I knew in the first minute it was still there, still that pull, the attraction, the intensity, the complexity of the way we understand one another. He who has grey hair now that sparkles in the sunlight when we meet on street corners all over this big beautiful city. After work and in between on our lunch breaks like we always did. I love the grey, the salt and pepper. I love it that I knew him and loved him and had him when he was young and strapping and full of black curly hair all over his head, and I love the refined style of his mid to late 30s and the way he carries his experiences carefully like a pail of water he is careful not to spill out so as to wet me too much. I love him all the time. He is my closest friend and he will be the father of my children and I trust him more than I have ever trusted anyone.
I feel that at the end of the day, at the end of it all, the end of the suffering and the betrayal that it was only he who originally wounded me that is forever healing me. It is a case of very good timing for us. And we are both elated. I even love it when we fight and he is passionate and he yells and I see his tender care and exaggerated sensitivity to all that exists in his world. I trod carefully in theses moments, there is a respect there that I have never had for a lover. There is a deep emotional bond that is full of respect and tenderness for him and I protect this fiercely and instinctually.
I can't imagine doing this, this two baby thing, with anyone else in the whole wide world.