Okay...So the first few weeks of school have presented their challenges. We have battled off sickness after sickness and even had a few worries with the pregnancy, but all seems to be settling down now. Tomorrow is the big day that we confirm the identity of pitstop #2. We had an ultrasound about four weeks ago that gave us a good idea, but I won't share any clues.....Will it be Emma Marie Pitman or Matthew Scott Pitman....Tomorrow, we should find out.......
In the meantime, I did manage to get some homework done and out of it came a great piece that I wrote for my creative writing class.....I think that it sums up our happiness pretty well....
Beginnings
I couldn’t imagine that it could get any bigger, and it wasn’t going to. It was a good two weeks from the day; the day that we had talked about and planned for a little over nine months. The house was beautifully decorated for Christmas. I wish that I could have taken credit for the winter wonderland, but my swelling condition would have never allowed me the energy for the task. The tree sat pristinely in the corner glowing with beautiful clear lights. It looked as though it had been kidnapped from the pages of Martha Stewart Living. Garlands hung from the stairwell, and the mantle was the perfect entry and escape for St. Nick. His stocking was even hung and ready for his arrival. It was green and red, and his name was perfectly scripted in gold puff paint.
It was our first holiday together although it seemed as though we had always shared them. We were a newspaper couple. He worked downstairs and was somewhat of a legend there. It was daily paper, and without him, many editions would have never made press. The intercom constantly rang with his name as frantic employees always needed his assistance.
He was the first person I met there, and I remember noting after the encounter there was something special about him. He took me to my desk and showed me every technical aspect in my new square home. It was apparent that he had given this speech many times. He showed me the computer and how to access the network, and then moved on to the phone. As he said many times before, “I make all the computers go”. A few weeks later a new publisher joined the paper, and I will never forget when he came out of his office and asked “Where is Scott?” and we all responded in unison, “Welcome to the Daily Report!”. It was the first question every new employee asked.
I worked upstairs selling ads. It was a small paper, but we were like a family. Little did I know that my real family would be formed at 190 Pryor Street. It began as any romance does. We looked for ways to run into each other, shared glances across the room, and found reasons to stay late together. We tried to hide it but didn’t succeed. Scott soon found his way into the publisher’s office announcing that he had proposed marriage and that we were expecting our first child. Neither of us was sure what the reaction would be, we prayed for acceptance. We needed our jobs now more than ever. After Scott’s nervous announcement, Mr. Korn smiled and offered his congratulations. We had his support and soon after everyone followed. It was our second home, and they were our second family.
I waddled past Ms. Julia on our way out that Wednesday. She was the best gatekeeper in town. With her direct and coarse demeanor, she manned the phone and the many characters that found their way in from the downtown Atlanta streets. Not much intimidated Ms. Julia.
“Have a good holiday,” she said with smile.
“We will”, I replied.
“See you on Monday,” she said with a wink.
“Maybe not…” I replied as I waddled out the door in front of him.
Ms. Julia never thought I would make it to the date. She knew I was a time bomb ticking, and she was right. That was the last time we would leave 190 Pryor Street as a family of two.
I had been looking forward to the holiday for weeks. Since it was our first, everything had to be perfect. My mother had ensured the décor was exactly right weeks before and was even preparing the food for the meal. Thanksgiving wasn’t complete in my family without a house full of Christmas decorations and the smell of giblet gravy. She knew how special this one was to us and that I was in no condition to recreate a Harris family Thanksgiving. As always, she was there to provide the perfect setting and a wonderful meal. My only responsibility was to provide the table and plates.
It was our first house with our first real dining room, and it was the perfect place for our first holiday. We woke up early that morning, which was rare in those days. My condition kept me in bed as long as possible in those last months. As a matter of fact, I would have just stayed in bed if I had been allowed. I was huge, my feet hurt, and I was pretty much miserable. The bed was a good place for me, but I wanted to get the room just right regardless of my physical condition. Our guests were scheduled to arrive at one only leaving me a few hours to get everything in order.
We finally had real dining room furniture that we had purchased a few months before. It was a small investment but seemed minuscule after signing our lives away for the mortgage on the house. It was beautiful oak and stone. Oddly enough, the table wasn’t the one I selected at the store but rather ended up in the room as a mistake. I was grateful for the mistake as the long square table complimented the room much more than the circular one that I had first envisioned. It had a leaf that would provide the perfect amount of space for our guests. I demanded that it be placed into the table. We hadn’t realized how heavy the simple piece of furniture was until then. Scott swore it weighed over two hundred pounds. I didn’t argue with him as he had to complete the task alone. My protruding belly left me useless.
I set the beautiful table with our mixed matched silverware and crystal. It was a copulation of hand-me downs and what had passed inspection from Scott’s bachelor pad. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and the hodgepodge table reminded me that we had only been in the house for three months. This span of time hardly allowed for acquiring a house full of beautiful crystal and silver. I lit the candles in the center and placed my Publix pilgrim shakers on one end. Scott had bought them as a surprise weeks earlier after he found me on the couch crying over a sappy Publix commercial. He is good about remembering insignificant details, and it is one of the many reasons I love him so much.
The door bell rang, and our family began to arrive. From there it was blur. We spent the day laughing, talking, and remembering when. The two families melted together perfectly, and no one would have ever known that it was their first encounter with each other. The impending arrival overshadowed much of the conversation, and it was apparent that everyone was excited about the first grandson. The nursery was set, and its unveiling made for the perfect end to the holiday. We opened the door with pride, and everyone gasped at the beautiful mural of jungle animals and the matching crib in the corner. The room was perfect and for the first time I felt ready.
The rest of holiday weekend flew by. We spent the next day in the mall with the hordes of holiday shoppers. I waddled through Macy’s with my list and pointed to every desired item. Scott resembled Mr. Claus as he carried an arm full of my must-have deals. It was a memorable trip and my energy level was notable. We even laughed as Scott commented that he hadn’t seen me move that fast since the second trimester trip to the Golden Corral. For the hours of five am to two pm, I managed to accomplish all the Christmas shopping and even was able to acquire a few pieces of crystal to help solve our mixed matched table problem. We returned home that afternoon with the intentions of spending the rest of the holiday on the couch with a few Christmas favorites. I had been dying to see A Christmas Story and Christmas Vacation. It was truly the perfect holiday and within three days we had made a ton of memories and managed to start a few traditions. I went to sleep that night content and at peace.
“Push!” was all I could hear, and the lights were blindly bright. He was there holding my hand just as I knew he would be. Sweat poured from my forehead, and I struggled to catch my breath. I closed my eyes in hope for a small retreat. I felt heaviness on my chest and new wetness on my face. I opened my eyes to see Joey standing there waiting eagerly to be escorted out for his morning romp. It was a dream. It was just a dream. I caught my breath and rolled out of bed.
As I threw on my robe and attempted to look excusable for our neighbors, I felt something. It wasn’t unusual in those days to feel a contraction or two, but this was different. It sent me quickly to the edge of the bath tube for stability. I breathed through it and thought that it would pass. I was still two weeks away. Scott was sleeping peacefully, and I hadn’t the heart to wake him again for another false alarm. I stayed there in the bathroom for another hour. Joey never left my side. He sensed it and was pawing at me to get Scott’s attention. I finally resigned and knew that we were about to embark on a new crazy journey. I grabbed Joey for comfort and said loudly, “Scott, I think it’s time…”
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