That's Amore

My husband and I have a joke. It's long running and not exact, or put into words, but what it equates to, roughly, is that I am his Italian peasant wife. 

I used to take the train home from the city at night, after work. As late as 10:50, more often then not 9:20. I walked places, I went out after dark. Taking  nap until 7 on weekends, leaving the house at 9, wishing bars were open past 12:30. I went places in the dark. To people's house, for after parties. To see the beach. To get pizza. The day started at the same time, it just ended later.

And then pre-Ellie, it changed. Mostly because of my pregnancy, but some of it was life choices. But because of the complications, it became...if not easier, more routine to have us do things together. Go to the store. Go to the library. I started to weigh if I really needed things, or if they could wait until Doug got home. I stopped going out at night. "Why bother? I can always go tomorrow." Like a retiree.

Black is a big color in womans fashion. Black roll down skirts from Old Navy, black t shirts. Everything comes in black. Cardigans, sweaters, flipflops. Black goes with a lot. So when pregnant, I wore black a lot. And I'd be too lazy to put on shoes.


Black clothes, short, brunette, flipflops in lieu of scuffs, I'd walk out of the house and sit in the passenger seat while he drove us on errands. For all the world like Aunt Donata in her housedress. Because I couldn't, shouldn't walk - he got in and out of the car while I sat and waited. Then we came home together.
His Italian peasant wife.

Barefoot all day today, at home.

I hired someone to watch Ellie, then got cute and pushed out the couch and loveseat in frustration in an attempt to find a tin teacup. The rug buckled, shifted, I lifted the couch, my lower abdomin twinged and I pretended I didn't feel it. 15 minutes later, as panic set in, I went up to bed to lie still for 2 hours.

In about 47 minutes my caretaker will be home with Ellie. After getting up at 2, I made sausage soup, did the laundry, and cleaned the counters. It's 4 now. I did not, I am not, doing the right things.

At 4:04 by my clock, I contemplate how to kill the time from 5 to 6:30 when Ellie is home, but before her dad. We could paint, we could color, I could read. I want to go to Target to do a return... so her running around will be contained, so her little bundle of energy self won't want to be outside, where I can't play, can't chase, can't catch.

I lifted a couch and wasted hours when the time I should be spending exerting myself is with her.
I continue to make the wrong choices, I suppose I am waiting to be warned, threatened, coerced,.. as if wasn't already. As if I don't know better.

Just one more day I keep thinking.
One more day of moving and tomorrow I'll sit the whole day I promise myself. Tomorrow I'll rest.


I wish that my husband would come home.