Wednesday, March 27, 2013

The Scar From When We Were Shiny

I've been sitting here watching the cursor blink for a long time. Blink.  Blink. Blink.  The past two weeks have been overwhelming with newness and busyness and excitement and people.  All the time.  Match Day.  St. Patrick's Day.  Spring Break for Little Man.  Grandparents in town.  Hubs home for a full month before graduation.  It is all awesome and fun and wonderful, but people give me writer's block big time.  Virginia Woolf wasn't kidding when she said you need a room with a lock. 

But here I am.  Finally.  Little Man is at school.  Little Lady is sleeping.  And I just kicked Hubs out for an hour in the hopes that this dam of stuff up on my brain can start to trickle down to the page before it blows.

But here I am.  Finally alone.  And there is so much up there and out there and in here.  And I'm lost with where to start yet again. 

It is finally starting to warm up in Minnesota.  The sun is shining today.  The birds are singing.  The snow is melting.  Thank God the snow is finally melting. 

I was warm enough to hang out barefoot for a while this morning.  Loved it.  I got out of the world's longest and hottest shower and waited a full hour before strapping on the wool socks that have been saving me since October hit. 

I sat on the bed talking to Hubs about upcoming plans, enjoying the freedom to wiggle the toes and not actually be shivering.  I looked down at my feet and smiled.  I have freakishly long toes and I love them.  And on my right foot, I have this little scar right on the top in the middle of that hard bone.  I love this scar. 

I was cooking dinner.  In Florida.  It was August and Little Man was one.  He had his own cabinet full of old camping cookware and random tupperware with missing tops and bottoms.  I was seven months pregnant.  Fat and happy.  And cooking dinner for my little family, thinking on how it was getting bigger in such a short time.  I was so happy.  Everything was still so bright and shiny. 

I remember being in front of the sink washing vegetables.  And I stepped on something.  Which happens all the time with dogs and kids and moms whose priorities don't include vacuuming every single time a crumb lands on the floor.  I was barefoot.  Without even thinking, I picked up my left foot and rubbed it across the top of my right foot to brush off the crumbs.  Only instead of being a crumb, it was a piece of enamel from one of the old camping mugs.  It sliced deep and the red ran.  It took a long time to heal and left a nice little white crescent on my foot. 

Sometimes the memories are vivid and you don't know why.  I have not idea why I've held this picture so clearly through the years while so many others have slipped away.  But it is there and like yesterday in my mind.  I see the scar and I can feel the day.  I can feel the happiness and anticipation and the ignorant bliss of the happily ever after that was our life.  I can feel the round stomach, full with my Jameson.  He was a part of me.  Growing within me.  He was real.  And here. 

It has nothing and everything to do with him, this little silly scar on my foot. 

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