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Lying in bed next to Tina, the baby asleep nearby in her cradle, my mind begins its uncertain drift – in and out of a satisfied state. It’s been a wholly new experience having Tina back, after so much uncertainty, after controlling my rage to not wrap my belt around Helena’s neck in revenge for all the damage she’s done. Well, nearly did…before Tina regained her senses and came home.
It’s also not lost on me that I’m relating with total strangers on the Internet, instead of with any of my friends. Or someone else involved in all of this – Tina springs to mind, but not yet, I can’t talk to her about what feels obsessive to me.
So, who in our circle of friends could, first of all keep a fucking confidence, or relate to any of my questions about being a new parent?
Alice has gone off the rails. Her obsession with Dana is all consuming. Tina feels really badly about it, and so do I. If we weren’t juggling with Angelica’s uncertain schedule of sleeping, feeding and pooping, followed by a fourth ball in the air, her blistering screams sometimes just for the hell of it, I know we’d either be admitting Alice into a psyche ward, or taking a long walk down the beach with her to size up the need for it.
Other’s neuroses aside, my quest for today is to understand this: When the primal bond between baby and mother is imprinting Tina as the sole provider of mother’s milk, what is left for me? Where do I fit in?
I stare out the window and wonder. Could I’ve predicted these lesbian Daddy blues?
More clouds roll in off the ocean and I feel lost.
If it’s being their provider, I never open my power suit closet any more. By now, I’ve probably forgotten how to walk in heels and not crash into a busboy. I do, however; recognize the part of me who’s half-heartedly sending out her CV for job prospects every morning, but mostly, I stare at the professional listings letting my tea grow cold.
And without guilt, I like the new me, who has no desire to work, or wrestle with people egos, who mistakenly believe they know more than I do. No. Fuck them. I’d rather spend my early mornings painting watercolors of Tina and the baby while they sleep, and my afternoons fantasizing about having sex some day, one day, any day again.