There was a little four month old boy sitting calmly on my couch last night. His father left him in his car seat there while the rest of his family went swimming.
This boy seemed to find me very amusing. I couldn't figure out what it was. Was it my glasses? My face? Whatever it was, he kept chuckling and grinning and grabbing at his bare toes.
I explained to him very earnestly that I did not know much about babies, and so if he found communicating with me a frustrating business, I understood.
Keith graduated yesterday. I didn't go, because not only the class, but the graduation was, as my husband would say, all jacked up, and he just wanted to get it over with.
He called me and said one of his classmates had a flight that didn't leave until the next day and had no car and nothing to do and could he spend the night at the house?
That was fine, but you know how it goes. One guest quickly became six. Three of them were children. These children were like little elves; they moved so quickly and spoke so softly that sometimes I thought I only imagined them.
Their mother wore no make up and had her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. I shook her hand while holding a dripping wooden spoon in the air; I had been making mac n' cheese. Basically I was cooking whatever I had left in my pantry.
After dinner, the children mysteriously decided that I was an interesting person, and so frequently waylaid me with important information, such as the loss of a tooth, or a somersault.
The little girl kept coming into the kitchen with the Barbies from my box of stuff and requesting their names from me.
When I told her they could be anything she wanted them to be, the idea seemed to hold too much of a vastness for her; her eyes grew wide. She looked at me in wonder and slipped away.
Shortly thereafer, she returned to inquire again, with a hopeful look. I took pity on her and named one "Brenda" and the other "Karen." Nice, solid names. Delighted, she offered them to me again, so I could repeat the names. Whispering the names to herself, she scampered off to play with them.
After that, she could be found drifting around the house, dolls in hand, whispering intently to herself. She was completely lost in her own world, and would sometimes bump up against things in surprise, like the edge of the counter, or my knees. I couldn't understand what she was saying, but it sounded very serious.
Her older brother came into the kitchen and asked me if I had a box of boy toys, like the box of girl toys his sister had. Sadly, I had to explain to him that I did not, as those toys originated from my own childhood as a little girl.
He took it well; he returned with grim determination to the Barbie box, knowing there was nothing else for it.
Their mother came and found me in the kitchen as well. When I told her she had delightful children, she then began a conversation that did not end until the family left. My only part in this conversation was to make the corresponding small sounds and remarks that indicated I was still alert and listening.
This was marvelous. I am very good at listening. Never once did I have to worry about picking up my end of the conversation. It was quite relaxing.
When they left, the little girl drifted over to me and put her fingers lightly on my knees. She said nothing, she just looked at me. I returned her solemn gaze.
"It was very nice to meet you," I told her. Then she smiled; her smile began in her eyes and spread slowly out over the rest of her face. She ducked her head and disappeared.
Sometimes I forget that one of the first things I knew with certainty about myself, was that I am good with children. That used to be the best thing about me, that certainty. Now, it seems the older I get, continuing infertile, that knowledge gets shakier and harder to believe.
I begin to doubt all my instincts. Surely they must be all wrong, if I'm not being given my own children.
I keep thinking about how it will feel when we have adopted, and have brought one or two children into the house, and they are our own children that are drifting around, discovering the parameters of their own world. But I can't really imagine it, because each time I try, my heart threatens to crack from sheer longing.
Keith and the remaining guest stayed up until 3am, celebrating the end of class with gusto. My staff sergeant is still suffering from the effects of this revelry. He is prostrate on the couch and will probably remain there until much later in the day.
I myself do not feel so well; the sounds of their movie kept me awake until about 1 am, and then I was woken again at 3 am when Keith came to bed and then woke again at 5 am in order to drive our guest to the airport.
I think it safe to say that tonight will be an early night for the Indiana household.
