*
*
Almost there… Almost there….
When did I decide to have my heart go on living outside of my body? Cause it sure feels that way. Even though I’m here, driving home, at 7:23 pm, I know it’s beating and breathing and half snarling and smiling just a couple of miles away…
Of course, the day that I’m back is the day we stay two and a half hours late. I’m all for Sabre and their awesome commission rates, but did it have to be today? I should’ve returned to my roots and spent time at reception. I could have gotten whatever Erin had and taken a sick leave.
But then I would be sick and Pam would get sick and even worse, Cecelia would get sick. Newborns don’t have a mature immune system yet. Idiot.
Granted, I need to work. I need to provide for my family—of three now. Certainly, moms and dads do this all over. My dad did it and I turned out fine (can’t say the same for my brothers, but that’s a different story). The thing is, I was okay this morning. She was up at five, I was up at five. She nursed and I burped her, diapered her, and re-diapered her. Later we kissed good-bye and off I was to win our bread.
But babies have no concept of time, meaning Cecelia is probably thinking I abandoned her. I’ve read about separation anxiety and babies are acutely aware when mom and dad leave. Cecelia maybe small, contrarily to what Pam may say, but I can already tell she’s a genius. By now, she’s probably putting two and two together and the sum is not four, but two—mommy and Celia.
Daddy? Where’s daddy? Well, dad’s stuck in traffic because of Biblical proportion weather outside. I wonder if this rain will turn to snow and maybe we’ll have a snow day?! It’s a thought.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I know it’s Pam, wondering if I abandoned her too.
“I’m almost there,” I blurt out.
She chuckles, “It’s okay. It’s just dad’s here and he’s getting hungry.”
“You can start without me,” I hear myself say, but it’s furthest from the truth.
But she knows it, and that’s why I love her.
“We’ll wait. You said you’re almost here, right?”
“Yeah… Another five minutes.” More like ten.
“That’s fine. He’s entertained with Cecelia anyways.”
“Aww… Give her a kiss for me.”
“We’ll do. Love you.”
“Love you too.” I close my phone, turn to the side streets, and begin to sew my way home.
I know I’m overreacting. I know I’m being crazy. But I just want to be a good dad for the little leprechaun waiting for me at home.
I pull into the driveway and I’m relieved. The St. Patty’s day decorations we put up flail with the wind gust blowing in concert with the persistent rain. Cecelia helped put them up too. It was a family effort. Last week was a good week—a frightening, exhausting, overwhelming, but amazing week.
I open the door and the sagging load is lifted off my shoulder. The lasagna and the baby aroma engulfs me completely and I sigh contended. I leave my belonging haphazardly by the door, which drives Pam crazy, and around the corner to the kitchen, but no one’s there.
I hear cooing sounds coming from the living room and I am there in two strides. I come to a stop at the entrance ‘cause the sight on them does me every time. Pam is cradling Cecelia and she’s awake and gazing at Pam. She clenches and unclenches her little fists, stirring languidly.
Oh, we decided not to swaddle—less hassle and more room for her to move if she wants too.
“Hey,” Pam says.
“Hey.” I walk over to the couch and bend to place a kiss her on her lips. I sit down next to them and lift Cecelia to me. “I missed you kiddo.” I cradle her close to my chest. “Did you miss me?”
Pam rubs lazy circles on my back. “Rough day, uh?”
“You have no idea.”
She smiles knowingly. “Jim, um… dad’s here.”
“Oh.” Yep didn’t seem him there. “Hi, Mr. Bees—dad.” Still can’t call him dad. “Sorry, I—”
“It’s okay. Women will do that to you.”
He winks. He had a wife and TWO daughters. He knows.
“Shall we eat?” Pam asks.
“Yeah,” I say. I’m a bit famished.
We go to the dining room and Pam has everything prepared. The plates and glasses and napkins—I can see she spent some time and effort setting everything up. However, there’s actually an extra plate. Huh…I wonder who’s missing.
We eat Pam’s famous lasagna and drink and talk, mostly about Cecelia, who is sleeping on her bouncer seat. Bill is a nice enough guy. He’s easy to talk too. Pam resembles him most. He’s very happy to be a grandpa. He jokes, saying his life will be forever surrounded by girls. I think if it were me, I would be okay with that.
We finish up, and I’m stuffed. We bid our good-byes and now it’s just me and my girls. Cecelia is still napping—she’s more of a 1:00 am kind-of-gal. We’re cleaning up, drying the dishes and putting things away, and I can’t help but ask, “Who else was coming tonight?”
She flinches and I already know who. “What you mean?” She attempts to dismiss it.
“There was an extra plate on the table.”
“Was there?”
Oh, she’s good.
“Yeah, there was.” I hold the dish towel at both ends and encircle around her, pulling her towards me. “It was for your mom.” I whisper.
She scoffs, “No… it was not… No…”She tries to wiggle away, but sadly, I’m right. She sighs, “Yeah… Yes it was.”
Pam still can’t accept that her parents aren’t together. This is not her first try. I beginning to think that we had a wedding, wedding, just so she could get them in the same room, but we know how that turned out. It breaks my heart, but I have to tell her.
“Pam, some people grow apart and it is sometimes best if you let them find their own way.”
She’s not having it.
“But this is their way.”
“If it is, then I'm sure they’ll find their way back to each other.”
I feel her unwind a bit.
“Jim, Cecelia will grow up to see your parents together and then she’s gonna ask ‘why aren’t grandpa and grandma Beesly together.’”
She’s thought about this.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” I kiss her forehead and free her from my embrace.
She surrenders for tonight.
We follow our nightly routine—as suggested on all baby books, and resign to our bedroom. I’m sitting holding my baby—I’ve been cradling her for a good two hours now—not part of the routine and not recommended on the baby books either. Sue me. Pam is taking a well deserved shower and it’s just me and Celia right now. I’m in love all over again.
Every time I look at her, I’m fascinated. If you stop to think about it, the idea of making another human being is absurd. I’m not religious or anything, but isn’t that something God, the omnipotent and omniscient, does? To think that I had any part in crafting this incredible, beautiful—if I may add, little girl, is mind boggling. She maybe stubborn and loving like Pam or laidback like me, or even have that awesome artistic gene in her. The possibilities are endless.
She’s going to be great.
I’m so enthralled in my reverie that I don’t see Pam step out of the shower.
“She’s got you wrapped around her little finger already.”
I chuckle. “Is it too early?” Her tiny fingers curl around my pinky.
“Well, It’s been a week today.”
It’s been a week today.
“Jim,” she pulls me back. “How was work today?”
I look at her and she is so amazing. My wife, Pam, is amazing. She’s wearing the stripped pajamas I love. She hasn’t worn those in a while. But my gaze slips down.
“That bad, uh?”
She knows. “Yeah, being back is weird.”
She climbs into bed and rests he head on my shoulder. She’s traces Cecelia’s tiny feature with the tips of her fingers. “You worried me when you called today.”
“Sorry, it’s just I missed being here.” I turn and kiss her hair. I inhale the fresh fruity scent. I missed it. Pregnancy left her with a sensitive stomach and we had to get rid of everything perfumed. “I hate to admit this, but I let Dwight get to me.”
“What?” She’s amused. “And I wasn’t there to witness this?” She lets her mouth hang open, feigning shock. “Did you hear that Celia, daddy’s gone bananas.”
Cecelia is not bothered. Definitely mine.
“Okay, he totally used her to his advantage, though” Dwight has figure out the way to my heart. Not. Good. “He made a ‘megadesk’ out of both of our desks. He wasn’t too happy to give it up.”
“Uuuh.. Tell me more.”
“He sang ‘Cat’s in the Craddle.’”
“I love that song!” She chirps. “And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, Little boy blue and the man in the moon...”
“No, stop.”
“Sorry, continue…”
“So he guilt tripped me to steal my desk and I listened. By the way, did she do that lip thing in the kitchen, like, I don’t know, at the fridge?”
“What? No… she did not do that to the fridge.” She laughs, but sees that I'm completly serious. “Though you’re the size of the fridge, she saves those specially for you.”
She knows exactly what to say. “You think?”
“Yeah.” She smiles and leans closer to me.“Oh, you came home at 7:30…. Why?”
“Two words: Jo Bennett.”
And we leave it at that.
I slide down the bed with Pam and Cecelia sprawled over my chest. It takes great strength for me to bring her to the bassinet later. But somehow I do it. When I climb back into bed , Pam molds to my body. It’s still weird not having her belly separating us. My arms go all the way around her now.
I'm still uneasy—I’ll be back to work in a few hours. Of course, she feels it too.
“You’re a good dad.” She reassures me.
I take a deep breath—taking her words in.
“If there are planes to catch and bills to pay, you know you’ll have a good time then.” She’s having a ball with this. Aaand she’s not done. “She'd grown up just like you. Your girl is just like you.”
I smile, “Good night, Mrs. Chapin.”
“Good night Little Boy Blue.”
I'm not surprised Dwight’s tactic worked anymore.
Author's Chapter Notes:
A little drabble about Jim's separation anxiety. The title is from 'Cats in the Cradle' by Harry Chapin.
I own nada
Chapter End Notes:
Wrote this under the influence of sleep. Couldn't wait, so I posted it. I'm a bit unsure. Let me know what you think. Thanks!
Dedeen is the author of 20 other stories.
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