fourteen-year-olds,” said a lady in sweats in a loud voice, pacing the
words to her short, hard breaths accompanying her double-time jog. We
laughed, surprised. We weren’t expecting anyone would notice, much
more comment. We’re usually quite refrained – public displays of
affection are just nor our thing. But that afternoon there were very
few people in a very big park and they all seemed preoccupied with
their things: Frisbees, soccer balls, four-legged masters and so on;
we just thought no one would see us. Apparently, we were mistaken.
“It’s good to see that this thing is still available,” she added after
passing us by, obviously realizing we were a few years past our
fourteen birthdays. Maybe even noticing the bands. Definitely noticing
we’re about to enter the “how long can you really last without sleep”
challenge.
“It never ends,” I replied unconsciously, still laughing. The
observant jogger laughed as well and soon disappeared. It was just the
two of us, again. Well, three, actually. Or two and a half, more
accurately. You know what I mean. It was just us, and this thing of
ours – the one that never ends.
We’re weeks away now. Or days, perhaps. Full term, already. We’re close.
The bag is packed; doctor’s office number is on the speed dial and all that.
Things are about to change big time; and real quick. We’re scared, anxious,
busy, already sleep-deprived, miserable, each in our own way: one with
swollen feet, the other with swollen brain… we’re parents in the making,
with all that comes with it, nine tenths of which we know nothing about yet;
we’re barraged with advise from all directions while running through
the mine field of preparations towards the battlefield of parenthood –
and all we’ve got is paper helmets made out of “Baby’s First Year” and
the car seat safety manual; no experience and no clue. The only other
thing we’ve got is… this thing of ours – the one that never ends.
Something tells me we’ll be alright.
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| Red Sky in the Morning - Sailor Take Warning. It's dawn. |
