said by me :Of once we met and once we meet, and between the bits of hellishness that have risen on appropriate occasion there stood a door, through which had either of us walked, it would have made trice we met.
There was the first occasion, a day of mirth in the heat of July, within a landlocked bay of rechoicement upon the arrival of the newly born Matthew. Of all things things one could be, poor Matthew's life was already stolen via his expected sainthood. Alas, these were the designs of two normally rational adults, who had completely lost their way over parenthood.
We met as mutual friends of each gendered parent. You were standing there with your hands clasped in front of your floral print dress with the slightly puffy sleeves and a pink sash drawn tautly around your small but firm waist. I remember noting at the time that you wore a band about your neck of the exact shade as your belt. Both of these combined with your startlingly green eyes, fine blonde hair, and general cheeriness, to give just an inordinate hint of Christmas about you. I suppose that my attire was none the better since I was in my retro 70s phase, wearing that powder blue leisure suit which I barely fit into.
Anyway, it was a bit of wine and the baby whining and the parents fawning and that strange man coughing through all the talking, which I meant to do with you but chance never involved us more than the introduction. I remember saying how charming you looked and you responding with an utterly cheery, "Hey", and then you turned away Christmas gone. That moment of my regret was suddenly distracted by a rising chorus of excitement when Matthew started to giggle. You know that giggle that only newborns have but lose by six months? The purest of giggledom, we never recapture giggle once it has been lost. Although I must say it is about that same time that we thankfully lose the ability to slobber over everything as well.
I walked into the other room to find the proud father holding the baby Matthew, bouncing him in his arms and rapidly running down a brief discourse on how bright Matthews star will shine, his face beaming with pride over both his new son, but also his utterly chaste future. Sainthood as benefit and burden, it would bind us to greet Matthew with both comfort and solace well into his teens.
I read this in preview mode and feel heavily about the need to edit. The paragraphs do not have a polished flow and I jump hither and yon in print. Eh, psychobabble anyway is what happens with only a stream of consciousness and without any sort of plan aside from the unfortunate sleeplessness - hah, that word is a as bad as Mississippi with all the "s"s and "e"s. Anyway, yechhhhhh, guten nacht.
tao