Jack crawled into my bed early Monday morning. "Momma, are you happy?"
"Yes," I say. "I am happy because I have you."
He is two and a half, and very small. Blond, thin and sweet as hell with a scotch-and-soda voice that sounds like he's got a perpetual cold. "I love you, Momma!" (He buries his forehead in my neck.) God!
I love boys. When I found out I was pregnant with another boy, I was neither surprised nor disappointed. My first son, Miles, would be two when his brother was born. I grew up with four younger brothers and was always more at ease around them.
Lately I've been trying to temper my negative feelings toward Jack and Miles' father with my love for them. They are such amazing kids. Sadly, he is not the most involved; they see him every 6 weeks or so for two days. I know this is a lot compared to other kids who never see their dads. So though I try to be as congenial as possible when he is here, we often wind up having an argument about something stupid. Daniel comes into town and they have action-packed, full-of-adventure weekends which I'm afraid make the rest of the month seem ridiculously mundane to them.
Daniel had taken the boys shopping on Sunday for a birthday present for me. The fact that he did that with them meant a lot. Maybe he is trying to make friends...that would be nice. They came to the house, sang to me. He half-hugged me, kissed the top of my head, and told me happy birthday.
I don't remember the last time either one of us even casually touched the other. That was strange. Sometimes I wonder if the last two years had never happened, how I'd feel about him if we were still together. What would happen if I put my arms around him like I used to- just to see...
The boys and I said goodbye to their dad about 3 PM and settled into our Sunday routine. Bedtime came early, so lucky for me I had a new book to continue: Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. Then The Big Broadcast on WFUV radio, which Jefferson had recommended. We chatted again, continuing our conversation from the previous night. Shortly before midnight, he wished me a happy Valentine's Day. I wanted to return the sentiment.
I think I succeeded.
On Monday morning a client asked me if Valentine's Day was a sad day for me (supposedly since I am no longer attached). I hadn't really thought about it. But those are the conventions, and the reason so many single people hate Valentine's Day. So, no- I was not sad, nor did I have "big plans."
No date, no flowers, no expensive dinner, no mind-blowing sex... (okay, a skillfully guided masturbation webcast which was delicious, thank you!)
And waking up to a sweet, gravel-voiced blond burying his face into my neck was all the chocolate I needed.