It’s springtime again. A little too early in the spring to be sitting out in the park, but I’m always hot now, so it doesn’t matter.
Dante and Henry are keeping warm on the basketball court. Dante’s showing Henry how to shield the ball with his body as he drives to the hoop. Henry tries to imitate his father, failing twice, before he successfully makes it past and shoots his shot. The ball spins around the rim, then falls in.
“Nice!” Dante shouts, clapping Henry on the back.
As if in response, I feel the baby turn over inside of me, her little feet now pressed firmly against my side. She kicks her heels, sending ripples across my belly. I press my hand on the other side of my flesh, feeling her feet tap against my palm.
I got pregnant that day at the motel, just like I knew I would.
Dante swept me up in his arms when I told him, with a new gentleness. Even though I hadn’t started to show yet, he lifted my shirt and kissed my stomach a hundred times.
He’s come to every doctor’s appointment with me. Every midnight run for orange juice and a particular kind of Parmesan cheese I’ve been craving.
I’m flushed with energy. I’ve been filled with a mad creative spirit, stronger than any I’ve felt before. I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy, or being with Dante, but ideas flow through my brain all day long. I’ve filled sketchbook after sketchbook with designs.
After the baby is born, I’m going to start my own fashion line. Dante’s already helping me find a warehouse where we can manufacture the clothing right in Chicago.
He goes with me to pick out textiles, asking me what I love about each one. Asking me to teach him why particular colors and shades pair well together.
“I like seeing them through your eyes,” he tells me.
I carry my daughter along as a silent passenger on this journey. Someday soon I’ll show her all these things, like I show them to Dante and Henry. She’ll join us, and our little family will be complete.
My feelings about this pregnancy could not be more different than the last time. There’s no fear or worry. Just a deep sense of anticipation.
But my feelings for the baby are just the same as for Henry—I love her already. With all of my heart.
“I hope she’s exactly like you,” Dante says.
I hope she’s better than me—prettier, smarter, kinder. But most of all I hope she finds her perfect match someday. I hope he tumbles into her life like Dante did into mine.
Because I know better than anyone that no amount of beauty or brains, or fame and success, can make up for a hole in your heart.
That hole is healed now. My heart is full. Full to overflowing.
I never knew there was so much happiness in the world.
