"Should we do it?" he whispered.
She glanced upstairs. "Okay," She tiptoed to the couch, "But only if we're quiet."
"Don't worry," he said, flicking on the DVD.
They watched season one of Lost during the final months of her pregnancy, unwrapping each character and plot twist, then folding them neatly in their mind's drawers. .
But then Madelyn came, with her fleshy pink feet and soft sighs. Life pressed the pause button. The drank her in. Watched each sigh and arm flail with wide eyes and an ever-present camera.
But oh, how she fussed! Bleating mews, inconsolable arching. Fury with a red face and pouted lip.
Her parents paced, holding her close as she curled into herself. They placed her in her bassinet, where she would sleep for ten, sometimes fifteen minutes a stretch before beginning the process anew.
They had tried to watch the same episode of Season Two for five weeks now "Why is Charlie so conflicted about the Mary dolls?" she asked, "I swear, this baby has made me stupid."
"I don't remember," he admitted. "Should I rewind it?"
"Nooooooo!" she hissed, "We will never finish this show. We must plow through it."
He winced as the baby hiccuped and growled from the bedroom. The clock ticked as they held their breath and waited.
Silence.
He pressed play. She rested against him, placing her hand on his leg.
She had gone to the doctor today for her six-week checkup. Her husband didn't know, because she didn't want him to know, that she was cleared. For exercise, for sex, for medically being "normal."
As the castaways ran through the forest on the screen, her eyes filled with tears. How was this normal? Her breasts reeked, her hair was developing its own ecosystem, and life was broken into fifteen minutes of wailing and fear.
How did people have second children? How could they even consider doing this all again?
How could they even do it again?
She sat in silence as the screen faded to black. She felt his gaze, and turned to him.
And he kissed her. He cupped the back of her neck and drew her closer. She folded into him, returning the kiss, feeling herself become lighter, looser, unleashed.
He ran a thumb down her check, tracing her jawbone. His eyes spoke of longing, of twisted sheets and soft sighs. "I miss us," he said, "I love Madelyn, but I miss these lips." She closed her eyes as he moved to her ear, "And lots of other places."
She nodded, and once again, felt her eyes fill with tears. "Oh, me too." She rested her head against his chest, feeling the familiar warmth, his soft, oaky smell. Her hand moved to the trail of hair leading to his waistband. He let out a low groan.
She smiled. It was time.
"Honey? I went to the doctor today...."
