Once the spinning is over and my feet are back on the ground, I’m left with a dizzying sense of loss. He spins me around some more until I get carried along by his mood, and the next thing I know the two of us are cavorting with joy in our somewhat grimy kitchen while we let the stew burn. “I have not been waiting for this baby for so long. We’ve been waiting for this baby for so long!” When he sets me back down, I hear Arvo Pärt’s plaintive duet for violin and piano, Spiegel im Spiegel, playing in my head, with all of its steady inevitability and sadness, and my life flows forward. My feet come right up off the floor as he spins me around. He is 11 inches taller and outweighs me by 97 pounds. Did my husband hear what I said? Is it even true? Can I take it back?Īnd then my husband is hugging me, not gently but commandingly, and you could even say triumphantly. Next I think about the way housekeeping is nothing more than a losing encounter with entropy. I start to think about mops and the way they never get anything truly clean. I notice the floor could use a good mopping. My husband is leaning on the counter with a beer in hand, and he’s been telling me about his day, in his usual upbeat tone, while punctuating his words with dazzling flashes of rational thinking.
My stew is simmering on the stove and its vapors tint the air the color of dog-skin and I can barely see the truth of things. We’re in the kitchen in our Sacramento home when I tell my husband I’m pregnant.
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