There is a strange moment I encountered today at a counter (teehee...playing with my Dr. Suess words.) We were out at Cold Stone getting ice cream and sorbet after an afternoon of soccer game, Nutcracker ballet practice, and art class* at the Old Firehouse Art Center when Jack accidentally turned his head right into my lower tummy and incisions. I instinctively winced and doubled over holding my tummy. It was firm and round in my hand. The clerk asked if I was okay. Yielding a deep breath, I answered, "Yes, he just hit my stitches."
The odd thought came later as I preceded to monitor the area around my tummy. Later, it came as I arched my back and held my bloated tummy as I rose from sitting on the floor reading the kids bedtimes stories. I felt pregnant. Like a wave, the memory of the joyous and cautious protective gestures I took to my tummy when I was not pregnant enough for anyone to notice but enough to start wearing the "big pants." There was an oxymoron of joy and grief. A feeling I never thought I would feel again in my life. Never really wanted it. A brief joy in the memory. And, a brief sadness that the nurturing gestures to my abdomen were not due a little life swelling in there. A passing train of thought.
* The art class drew amazing fruit still lifes today. But, we are bummed the teacher said she decided to up the age to 6, Jack is sad. He said it is hard when he is tired from soccer but wanted to go when the season was over. Maybe she will make an exception. The other teacher was a sub and had no problem adapting to work with my young Rembrandts. I hope we can talk this teacher in letting him attend maybe 30 minutes of the class or something. I love to see him applying himself like he is.
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