She had a habit of dating guys with three-letter names. Tom, Ben, Sam, Pat… For some reason, she felt this simple named guy could be different.

He had brown hair. Not surprising. Half the male population had brown hair that probably badly needed a haircut.

He had a wide smile.

He had an infectious laugh.

He called her by her last name, which both annoyed and delighted her. Because really, Filapelli was a great last name, but she wasn’t some schmuck.

The way his eyes crinkled in the corners, the way his hands were strong and tanned, the way that suit jacket hung off his lean shoulders… He was just…. Wow.

He drove an economical car. Really. He had a good job, and could have been driving something fancier, she guessed. But he drove a nice, safe, reliable car. It was understated and clean, had dozens of CDs in a simple black case, and had a green tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. It was almost enticing.

He asked her out with a quiet kind of confidence. He wasn’t cocky, or shy, or indifferent. He was poised and careful. She dared to refer to it as being graceful.

He bit his lip when he concentrated. He was sitting in her bed upright doing the Sunday morning newspaper crossword puzzle when she noticed it, and it was endearing and sweet. His brow was furrowed, clicking the cap of his mechanical pen back and forth. She turned from her dressing table, watching him intently. And she knew.

The first time they’d made love, he kissed her softly on the forehead. No one had ever done that before.

The first time they slept in the same bed, she’d awoken in the middle of the night when his elbow flung into her face. No one had ever done that before, either.

He had a great family. Not Italian, but still great. They made her laugh, and she felt at home.

She was in love. Karen Marie Filapelli. In. Love. It was surreal to her. She’d thought she was before, but… It had never been like this. Like, he knew what she was thinking before she’d even said it. Like he knew how she felt before she’d even felt it. Like he loved her before she’d even known she could love like that. Surreal. And amazing. And humbling. And it was everything to her.

He was tall. She was petite. He laughed when the pictures were taken because of how he had to lean over so they could both be in the shot.

He was romantic. He never failed to open her door, or pull out her chair. It was little things like making sure her wine glass was always filled and her shampoo and conditioner were always stocked at his place and always having kettle corn… it meant something to her. A lot of something.

He smelled like Tide. It was a simple scent, one that was achingly familiar to her. Her mother had used it all her life, and it reminded her of catholic schools and weekend trips into the city and college vacations.

His eyesight was phenomenal. He could see a dot from a mile away.

He was scared of bugs. Legitimately. Hated them.

He was in love with her, too.

His name was Dan. He picked her up when she was down, held her when she was pushing away, wiped away her tears and gave her a reason to smile.

And when she married him? She knew for certain that it was for real. She loved him, he loved her. He’d given her a fairytale. He always made her feel as though she deserved it.

And finally, she believed it.

She was going to be a mother.

Holy shit.

She wasn't cut out to be a mother. She just wasn't.

She was selfish.

She really, really enjoyed her free time. Really. She couldn't picture dragging a kid along on trips to the city to a hot new show, or out for drinks with her friends.

Hell, she couldn't imagine even taking the little rugrat to the grocery store in Utica.

She wasn't cut out to be a mother.

She hated the smell of baby powder.

She really hated the idea of soccer practice and minivans.

She laughed at her friends when they began to settle down and start families. She just never saw that in herself.

But she could see it in him.

She told Dan matter of factly over chicken and rice. His eyes widened, teared, his jaw dropped, and he grasped her in a tight embrace. For some reason, this surprised her.

He went out the next morning and promptly purchased a 2,000+ baby name book and a unisex New York Mets onesie.

He was excited.

She was terrified.

They told their parents on a Saturday. It was the first time she could remember hearing her mother actually squeal.

She was going to be a terrible mother. She was convinced. What kind of mother spends 2 hours and 17 minutes staring at car seats and strollers, trying to decide between the one that was fashionable and the one that was economical? She finally ignored what they all looked like and just bought the most expensive ones.

She wore Jimmy Choo’s. Baby puke would destroy Jimmy Choo’s.

She had owned a puppy for six days. A yappy Yorkshire Terrier. She gave it to her cousin because she couldn’t take care of it.

But you can’t give a baby back.

Can you?

She didn’t think so.

She didn’t know the first thing about raising kids. When do you put the little locks on the bottom cabinets? Do you keep the toilet seat lid covered so they don’t fall in? Or is that dogs? She couldn’t remember.

She subscribed to Cosmo and Redbook. Not kid-friendly.

She watched Sex in the City and NipTuck. Not kid-friendly.

They lived on the second floor of an apartment building, with no elevator. Definitely not kid-friendly.

But when she started to show, and he looked at her like he did, like she was a goddess and she was beautiful and he was just… God, like he was just amazed by her… It did something to her.

She wanted to know the sex. He didn’t. When she found out it was a boy, she held the secret between her teeth.

When painting the nursery, she decided on the color instantaneously. A natural, watery, summery green. It was called Instinct. Oh, irony.

She was in her twenty-second week when she started to bleed. A little on her panties in the morning. More in the afternoon. She raced to the hospital, desperately praying that her little one would be OK.

That afternoon changed her life.

The expression on his face when he saw her laying in the stark white room; it changed her life.

The ultrasound where she heard her baby’s heart beat; it changed her life.

The overwhelming joy she felt when the doctor told her they were going to be OK; it changed her life.

Maybe she didn’t think she could be a mother. But what mattered was she wanted to be a mother.

She went home that night and slid into bed and nestled against her husband, whose big hand was placed protectively over her stomach. It felt right.

They bought the furniture together. After her experience with the strollers, she decided big decisions were best made together.

They decided on a name.

They decided on god parents.

They decided on, albeit a bit prematurely, a preschool.

They decided to trade in her corporate owned sports car and get a small SUV.

They stocked up on diapers.

Maybe she wouldn’t be the best mother… But she was definitely going to try.

Labor was painful. Horribly, devastatingly painful. Like, she couldn’t understand why women choose to have baby after baby after baby when labor was like this. She was sweaty, aching, a burning throb between her thighs, to the point where she was convinced the baby was just going to pop out of her belly button. She grasped the metal bars of the bed until her knuckles turned white. She threatened her husband with murder, castration, 3 AM feedings until the end of time. He nodded seriously.

She was never doing this again. This was ridiculous. The pain, the agony…

But it was all worth it.

She held the little bundle in her arms, swaddled in a sky blue blanket, Dan staring over her shoulder at the tiny red faced baby in utter amazement.

Nicholas John Phillips.

He was screaming his little, dark haired head off. Bloody murder, probably.

He was squirming against the fabric covering him, his little eyes squinting against the bright, harsh light.

He had her hair. His nose. Her eyes. His chin.

Their baby.

He was perfect.

Maybe she wouldn’t be the perfect mother. But that little boy? He would be loved. He would be cherished. He would be given opportunities and chances.

Maybe she didn’t see herself driving a minivan and taking him to soccer practice. But she would. Because she loved him. More than she loved herself.

No, she would never be the perfect mother, and sometimes when he colored on the walls, or stomped up the stairs to his bedroom, slamming doors, or broke windows, or came home with a D on his report card, she would wonder how she got to that moment in time.

But he was hers. And she loved him unconditionally.

She might have been a little jealous.

Just a little.

Not a lot.

OK, maybe a little more than just a little.

She liked Pam. She really did. When she saw her with Michael when he came to lecture her crew about... well, whatever the hell he did, she felt for her still being in that same… insane environment. She absolutely, even after almost 2 years, remembered how it was to work at Dunder Mifflin Scranton.

But being reminded of Scranton reminded her of Jim.

And she truly, without a doubt, did NOT want to be reminded of Jim.

She read about their wedding in the DM monthly newsletter. Conveniently located under the DM Utica dismal sales record. It was really glorious. The only saving grace was the fact that there wasn’t a picture. Because that really would have been the cherry on top of the whole situation.

She understood how he felt about Pam. God, he had admitted that he still had feelings for Pam. But he had also told her that he loved her. When they stood on the streets of New York and she told him that there was one too many people in Scranton, he’d seemed to agree with her. And then suddenly, he was meeting her at a fountain, telling her that he couldn’t be with her, and he needed to be back home.

And he went home.

Leaving her. In front of a fountain. In New York City.

Jackass.

He deserved every single word she threw at him when she got back to Scranton. She screamed at him, told him of the nights she cried herself to sleep because she loved him. She loved him. Plain and simple. She hadn’t when she moved to Scranton, but it had developed into it quickly. His sense of humor, his wit, his intelligence, his charm… His disgustingly sexy, rock hard, delicious body… It was sickening. She loved the man. And he dropped her like a bad habit.

Jack. Ass.

Ugh.

But it was OK. Because her move to Utica introduced her to Dan. And Dan was everything she’d ever dreamed of.

But Jim Halpert. He still did something to her.

She sat on her couch staring at the article, explaining how the new Mr. and Mrs. James Halpert were married in a Christian ceremony, she wore a beautiful strapless white gown, he looked “dapper” (who says “dapper” anymore, anyways? She wondered) in his black tuxedo, she carried a bouquet of pink and purple wild flowers, and they honeymooned down on the Cape. She rolled her eyes at the quote from Michael, gushing about how the couple “met and fell in love in MY office, Dunder Mifflin Scranton, where we have the best numbers in the company, and obviously, being their father-figure, matchmaker, and best friend, I single handedly helped them in starting their lives together, etc., etc.”.

She rolled her eyes.

Ridiculous.

When her son started crying, shaking her from her reminiscing, she moved to rock him back to sleep.

Her little boy. With her husband, the love of her life. She was so lucky to have them.

So why was she so captivated by a little article?

Because of how he broke it off? Maybe.

Because of how quickly he moved on? Perhaps.

Because of how much she cared about him, to only have it thrown back in her face? Definitely.

But who was she to hold him back from the woman he obviously loved? A woman that with a single speech on a balmy night on a beach and a yogurt lid could cause a man to flip his life upside down. It was unreal.

She might have been a bit jealous.

She really, truly thought he loved her the way he oh so obviously loved Pam.

But he didn’t.

Clearly.

She gritted her teeth and looked down at the dark haired infant in her arms, and she smiled. She might have been a little bit jealous, but she was also really happy.

She had a great life. A lovely home, a loving husband, a sweet little boy, a job where her employees respected her. And she had memories.

Looking at her baby who was sucking gently on his pacifier, his little hands clasped together, made her heart swell and her feelings soften. He was hers, unconditionally. And she really owed the fact that she was holding this little boy in her arms to Jim.

He’d let her go. He’d hurt her, broken her heart, made her feel as small as a human could possibly feel. But because he had, she was able to go to Utica. She met her Dan in a grocery store next to the pineapples. He loved her, and he asked her dad to marry her, and he got down on one knee in front of her childhood home in the City, and he was there for her, all the way, and with him, they created the sweetest, most perfect little boy in the world.

She started to laugh.

She’d been jealous, for some stupid reason. She’d been jealous of Jim and Pam and their perfect love and their life together. When really, she owed it to them for allowing her the blessed life she was living now.

She was happy.

She was loved.

She was content. And comfortably so.

She stood up with little Nicky in her arms, and walked briskly into the kitchen. Sliding open a cabinet door, she pulled out the trash bin and pushed the DM newsletter inside.

She smiled.

There was no reason to be jealous.

It was three in the morning.

The baby was crying, and the toddler was pacing around his room.

Dan was away on business, and she'd been up to her elbows in spaghetti sauce and diapers the whole night.

She felt like she should be overwhelmed.

But she wasn’t.

This was life now. This was who she'd become. A wife. A mommy.

She took pictures at t-ball games. She bought baby wipes in bulk. She took the boys on Sunday morning drives through the mountains, and every third weekend of the month they spent on Long Island with Grammy and Granddad.

She lived in a nice sized house in a good suburban neighborhood. It looked nothing like the brownstone in the city that she grew up in, but it felt the same to her. It felt like she was home.

Her job was pretty simple. David Wallace had her almost convinced to apply for another corporate position, but she denied him the request.

She was happy where she was.

It was an odd feeling as she stood in front of the window, a soft breeze slowing from the west, the sky black, dotted with bright white stars. The crest of the moon was just a sliver, and it reminded her of being a kid at summer camp, sleeping outside with her friends. Long after the campfire had gone out, they’d imagine what kinds of jobs they’d have when they were grownups, what kind of husband, how many kids, what they’d be doing for hobbies.

She never believed she'd settle where she was. In a little town in New York, far from the hustle and bustle of the city she loves, married with 2 kids and an SUV. This is never how she saw her life playing out.

When she was young, she had a picture of what her life was going to be like. In a high rise apartment overlooking Central Park. A Mercedes parked in an uptown garage that cost more than she'd admit to herself. A boyfriend here and there, but being self-sufficient. Seeing family occasionally, but liking that she needed no one but herself.

Now she can sit on a Friday night and be perfectly happy watching her husband sleeping on the couch.

But tonight he was away, and the baby just wouldn’t sleep, and Nicky felt bad for his little brother, so he wouldn’t go to bed until the crying stopped. She paced in time with the three year old in the next room, rocking the infant swaddled in a blue chenille blanket in her arms, stroking his downy dark hair and prayed the wailing would subside before it drove her completely insane.

She turned from the window and snuggled the baby closer, and glanced at the artwork in the room. Bears and miscellaneous animals in shades of blue and gray in black frames. She thought of what the artwork would have been in her sky rise dream. Probably bold splashes of color, not angry, but intense. On a plain white wall, they’d be focal points, showing her guests what type of woman she was. Independent. Strong. Free.

She thought of the other artwork in her home now. Finger paintings in primary colors on the fridge. Coloring book scribbles in a scrapbook on the coffee table. Clumps of clay in indistinguishable figures on the entertainment center shelves.

She liked what was real a lot better than anything she’d ever had in her dreams.

The baby’s cries turned several decibels higher, his anguish evident in the tear streaked red cheeks, his arms pushing against the swaddled blanket.

“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay…” She whispered to him, his howling louder than ever. “Oh baby boy, you have got to stop crying…”

She held him close, and settled into the rocker next to his crib, knowing that he wasn’t wet, but thinking maybe he was just hungry. He’d pushed from her breast earlier sooner than he’d done before, but all the books said when baby was full, baby would stop eating. Nicky had certainly done that.

She unbuttoned her blouse, and baby wiggled closer to her, his mouth anxiously twitching, his tears subsiding.

Hmm. Guess he was hungry.

He closed his eyes and started to suck, and the silence against her ears could have been louder than his wailing.

So much for motherly instinct. Motherly instinct could have helped her three hours ago when baby started this marathon session of tears.

But now he was silent, his little hands pressed against her breast, gulping greedily. She wiped the wetness from his cheeks with the pad of her thumb, and stared down at him adoringly.

He was going to look like Dan.

Everyone said Nicky looked like her, and she could see it. From the dark hair, to the dark eyes, the chin, the nose… It was her, all the way.

But the baby? The baby was Dan. His ears, his temperament, his pudgy little cheeks. He had been the best baby since he’d been born just four weeks earlier, the second light of their lives, and their family was complete.

There was no way to describe the feeling in her stomach when she held him for the first time in her hospital bed, cradling him, brand new and smelling sweet and baby powder fresh. When Nicky jumped up into the bed, and kissed his new little brother on the head, her eyes welled in tears and her breath caught in her throat.

Dan had leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, “I love you, Mommy,” into her hair.

And nothing could have been better than that.

This was her life, she realized. She slowed her rocking to listen for Nicky in the next room. The floorboards were silent. She pictured him asleep on the small throw rug in his bedroom.

Dan would be home in the morning. And they’d probably take their boys to the park. Dan and Nicky would swing on the swings, and she’d sit on a bench and coo at the infant in her arms. The sun would beam down on them, and she’d put a baseball cap on Nicky – New York Mets, to match his Daddy’s. They’d come back to their little house and they’d barbeque some chicken, and a hot dog for Nicky, World’s Pickiest Eater, and maybe they’d go for some ice cream that night in the fall air.

It’d be wonderful.

Just like her life had turned out.

Things had been bad and good, easy and hard, sad and full of joy. It’d been simple and complex, black, white and Technicolor.

It was everything she’d never dreamed of.

But it was so much better than everything she had.