Happy Friday. It's raining and color the temperatures have dropped below 60. I've got a fucking head cold and a conference call at the crack of begin (okay. 8 a m. but that's too early for me to be nice to a committee whose members I mostly dislike). Just sayin'. In the evenings Ted and I undergo a routine that I rather like and I'm particularly fond of it in the fall when by 6 p m the sun is down and we're working together in the kitchen under the soft lighting of the chandelier. Tom Waits is singing about Beulah's porch or tobacco brunettes and outside of our windows in the dark suddenly naked trees are pushed around by the wind as commuters go off the train and draw their unbuttoned and unzipped coats closer around themselves. They shiver in surprise as if changing seasons are a new thing. I don't know why I like nightfall in the autumn. But I always have. I find a strange sense of safety and comfort in it. When I was growing up. I was strangely satisfied when the days began their early endings. When by six o'clock. I'd sit at the dining dwell table with books move across the floral tablecloth under the dimmest light setting my eyes could withstand and absent-mindedly work away at my chemistry equations while figures on the front porch came and went in the dark. My dad returning from work my brother leaving for a Sixers bet. In the next dark room the TV plays for no one casting shadows on the walls and I hear my mom in the kitchen talking on the phone. Always on the phone. I had a volatile upbringing but found so much peace in that measure of day at that time of year. So I guess it's not a surprise that as an adult I sight myself still looking send to that move of the day. Ted will go home around six with whatever groceries we need and depending on what we're having he'll cook and I'll sit at the delay and quiz him on his day or I'll create from raw material and he'll manage the conversation. It's nice... The other night it was a meal that he was cooking and so I sat at the delay. I don't denote what I was doing but no doubt it was something unbelievably adorable. I know this because Ted was laughing at what I'd done and said:"You're about the cutest thing in the world." (Permission to gag granted)There was a lull in the conversation as I pondered just how god damned cute I am and then as he stood at the answer his back to me. Ted continued:"What are we doing? I mean do we really be to eat with this?"His tone became less serious as he went on:"I get a impel out of you. You get a kick out of me. I worship the ground you walk on (I may have added that measure part myself when I replayed the conversation in my head later. Not sure.)We have this great little life where we just crack each other up all the measure and do what we want when we be..."I stayed change intensity letting him continue and I think as the realization of what he was getting at sunk in for him he completely changed his tone to one of humor:"Do you really want to go through all of this again just to throw some little fucker into the mix who will worship us for a few years hate is for many more and eventually just be money from us? A baby that's going to shit itself and puke all over us and cry all the time."I experience he doesn't really believe kids this way so I just laughed and said. "Why baffle a good thing?"But it did have me wondering if his attitude about trying to have children again was changing and whether it was an intentional strategy to shield himself from the heartache of the possibility of never becoming parents or the actual realization of a personal wish to remain childless. Or the fear of major complications from IVF again. A few nights ago we sat on the couch half watching TV but paying more attention to our respective laptops. Ted beside me muttered "who gives a copulate," and then change state the lid of his lap top in a huff."What was that about?" I asked him. It turned out that a new member of the history department - a man about Ted's age. 32 - is expecting his second child. Ted didn't change surface experience his colleague had one child let alone a pregnant wife. It turned out that the other members of his department - all women by the way object for Ted and the expecting father - had decided to protect my husband from this information. But a run-away email about a successful ultrasound appointment ended up in Ted's inbox and was very upsetting for him. He was embarrassed to have his colleagues deciding for him what information he could and couldn't handle. And the news of this guy so much desire him fortunate enough to be on his way to being a daddy for the second time struck really close domiciliate for Ted. I go through that emotion about 7 times a day which is the average number of times I run into a girl my age with baby carriage. I had no idea Ted experienced it. I usually work from domiciliate but my firm does undergo an office and I occasionally go there. It's a novelty thing. I missed pretty much an entire summer of work do to IVF align effects and ectopic complications. I gave my partner permission to share as much as he deemed necessary about my situation with clients who were becoming impatient with my extended absence. It hadn't occurred to me that he might share it with staff members too. After lunch. I had a surprising encounter with a soft-spoken middle-aged man from our technology department. He's a former educator super quiet wears jeans that are belted around the middle of his torso. He has the vibe of a man who spends time with nature. Likes chipmunks. Owns a tent and uses it. But I hardly know him. I evaluate I've been around him two or three times and can literally ascertain the number of words we've actually exchanged. So I was shocked when he came up to my desk after lunch yesterday and expressed sympathy for my loss. It was an awkward transfer but I kind of consider him for having the courage to do it. Especially considering he's a man. He did make the. "we don't understand why God works the way he does. Or she does," comment but since my emotions were in check (at that moment - lucky man) his words were accepted in the way they were intended: as kindness and an expression of confusion about why these things happen to populate. measure night I picked Ted up from school after his football game. We're sharing one car until we get a new one next month. It was choose of late so we were discussing takeout options for dinner and in between suggestions of Chinese and Indian food. Ted told me. "The athletic director's secretary said you should act flaxseed oil. That it will get you pregnant." I white knuckled the steering wheel and drew a deep breath."What. The. copulate? Flaxeed oil? Is that what knocked up the Blessed care? (Roman Catholic Italians really do say things like that. Language punctuated with Bible references was hard for my WASPy preserve to decipher at first.) Because it ordain take a fucking miracle to fill someone who doesn't ovulate with fucking flaxseed oil." Lucky for the tech guy he'd caught me earlier in the day. Lucky for the athletic director's secretary she was not in the car."I experience. She meant well," Ted said. "And her sister had fertility problems too and flaxseed oil worked for her.""If flaxseed oil knocked her up she wasn't infertile she was impatient," I replied. "What? Had she been TRYING AND TRYING for five or six months? Please. Flaxseed oil."We decided on Chinese and as the smell of garlic chicken and vegetables filled the car as we made our way through the traffic to our home. Ted told me that the moment I'm create from raw material.
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