For months, she'd been down; the waiting, it seemed, had become like a dampener on the world, the entire world, and nothing had been the way it once had; the colours had become dull and boring, even the flavours had lost their flavour. She'd been ready for it to end; for the waiting to be over.
The wait was over, finally.
She recalled, with a flash, how, on that last day of waiting, fear had seized her. What if something went wrong; what if she wasn't the same afterward, what if she didn't love the baby, what if she didn't want it?
She gazed at her baby now, and couldn't believe she'd ever thought such thoughts; she couldn't believe she'd ever been so down about this baby, couldn't believe she'd ever thought she could not want it, that the possibility could even exist. She'd been playing a game for months, a game in which the effort of waiting dragged her down, sapping the life from her as it did, dragging her further and further down, further and further from her old self, from any semblance of her self. She almost couldn't believe it had ever happened, it had ever been that way.
She'd dreamed of this day; in her dreams, she'd always looked at her baby and she'd been unable to believe that this thing had come from her, that it was the same thing that she'd been carrying for nine months, that she'd been keeping safe. In her dreams, she'd been unable to reconcile the infant to her months of waiting for something, something that she'd had no way of knowing how it would turn out except to do her best and hope; in her dreams, she couldn't stand to be around the baby; she was paranoid that it would grow up as it had inside her, that with its growing, everything around it would wither and wilt, that it would give nothing out, but leave nothing left when it took what it wanted, and needed. She dreamed that the start of its world was the end of hers.
For months, she'd tried not to let any of her fears show; she didn't know how good a job she'd done.
After all of the uncertainty, all of the pain, her fears had finally vanished.
She thought that she'd never had a hand in making anything more beautiful, gorgeous or wonderful. It almost seemed impossible how wonderful her baby was, and she knew that there would have to be more. She couldn't just have one; she had to have more.
She loved her husband, that was the truth, and she wanted him to be happy. She could almost see it in their baby's eyes; now, she wasn't the only one who wanted the same thing. It wouldn't be so hard now, it wouldn't just be her; the baby would be there, too, to love its father, and to be loved by them both; to really, honestly solidify their love.
The baby was more than just a few nice words at a marriage ceremony; a baby was undeniable, indelible evidence.
The baby was proof that she could love something more than herself, and her job. This would be her job, now. She was a mother, and she was determined that she would take to the role as she'd taken to all of her previous endeavours.
She would be a great mother; she had a great husband, and together, they would have a great child. Today, they were truly together; today, they were a real family.
She wanted that family to have the best chance; she was invested in it.
An investment for the future by planet p
Disclaimer I don't own Donas de Casa Desesperadas or any of its characters.