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Day Dreaming

Sitting on the floor, barefoot, legs crossed, facing my counterpart like a two-way mirror. Rolling a babbling babe to and fro that is equal parts significant of each other. His eyes and nose...my mouth and chin...curious dimples that don't quite match. But she is her own being that completes this little circle of intimacy. The sun is streaming in through the bedroom windows and onto the hard-wood floor casting a glare onto my husband's thick-framed glasses. He is leaning over to kiss our daughter's plump feet and tickle her belly as he plays games that only they seem to understand. An acoustic guitar leans against the wall behind him that is filled with remnants of Bob Dylan songs played to an audience of two.

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Loud waling escapes from tiny lungs as little fists clench the air. I peer down into the face of my three week-old daughter trying to decipher what she needs at 3am. I have changed her diaper, fed her, burped her, held her close....to no avail. She is wide awake as her ocean blue eyes look up to me to rescue her from her present discomfort. I grasp her in my arms and look over my shoulder to ask my husband what I should do. There is nothing there but an empty bed and cold air that feels like a vacuum of lonliness. My eyes well up with tears, and I try desperately to conceal them from the sweet babe that needs me to be strong for her. I walk past the mirror on the dresser and see the ghastly white shadow of my face after several weeks without real sleep. My black hair is matted to my head from a pony-tail that has been against a pillow for a few days, and there are traces of baby spit across my shoulders. Perhaps this is what is scaring him off. Or my neediness to have support, to have someone there to take care of me. Instead I get solitude and dismissal while he consumes a good night's sleep away somewhere. I wonder desperately to myself how I will be able to hold it all together alone through choruses of 'The Itsy Bitsy Spider'.

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