Even though we agreed I’d work until my 9th month, I activated my maternity leave and waddled home early today. I want cribs, and curtains, and tiny booties…want my back rubbed, my feet massaged…to read parenting magazines and nap with my Kindle™.
The lights are on in the kitchen. I hear noises upstairs. I go up, and there you are with him, hard and lunging, sweaty and ecstatic—like I wanted you to be with me.
“Just friends,” you’d said. I knew better.
I wanted him, too, the way I’d wanted you—before I knew you wanted each other.