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deep_red_bellsSnag yourself the coding here.
May. 21st, 2009
Journal:
deep_red_bellsSnag yourself the coding here.
There is no exact moment to point at and say “This is the moment I fell in love with her. This is the moment the world shifted and she became the center of it all.” It happened in small stages, bit by bit, when the blue plus sign materialized on the pregnancy test and stared up at her from the bathroom counter, the first time she heard the heartbeat racing over the Doppler, the first time she felt something crawling under her skin and lost her breath from the shock of it. It continues to happen even now, when she looks in the mirror and sees the changes her body’s going through, when she’s in bed at night just starting to drift, and the tiny wings beat inside the little bump of her stomach, stronger every day. When the realization of “That’s my baby, my baby‘s in there, my baby‘s moving” hits home. The awe never seems to fade, and neither, at the heart of it, does the terror. Both just become a little easier to conceal, to keep inside rather than push outward.
She doesn’t have the advantage of looking at the world through rose colored glasses anymore, and the icing that conceals the razorblades has long since melted away for her. She’s bringing this new life, this brand new squirming creature growing in her, into her world. Her dark, hard, sharp, red and black world.
Death is your gift.
She’s bringing life into a world of death, and doesn‘t know if she‘s strong enough to protect it.
And no one is, are they? That’s what’s so terrifying. No matter how hard she tries, no matter that she’s willing to shed every drop of blood and fight til her last breath--she can’t protect her from each and every single one of those razorblades.
It was so different before. Before she could look at the danger and the darkness and think “bring it on.” She had nothing to lose except her life, and she wasn‘t afraid to die. Now there’s too much to live for, too much depending on her, too much to protect.
She’d never been afraid of the dark. Until the world shifted, and her daughter became the center of it.
She doesn’t have the advantage of looking at the world through rose colored glasses anymore, and the icing that conceals the razorblades has long since melted away for her. She’s bringing this new life, this brand new squirming creature growing in her, into her world. Her dark, hard, sharp, red and black world.
Death is your gift.
She’s bringing life into a world of death, and doesn‘t know if she‘s strong enough to protect it.
And no one is, are they? That’s what’s so terrifying. No matter how hard she tries, no matter that she’s willing to shed every drop of blood and fight til her last breath--she can’t protect her from each and every single one of those razorblades.
It was so different before. Before she could look at the danger and the darkness and think “bring it on.” She had nothing to lose except her life, and she wasn‘t afraid to die. Now there’s too much to live for, too much depending on her, too much to protect.
She’d never been afraid of the dark. Until the world shifted, and her daughter became the center of it.
[OTC] 48.1: Talk about your mother
May. 21st, 2009 09:18 pm“You haven’t told her any of what’s going on in your life. That you’re married, that you’re pregnant--you don’t think she should know?”
“I think she gave up her right to know anything a long time ago,” Baileigh replied calmly, flicking an imaginary piece of lint off of her pants leg. “I swear to God, would it kill them to design maternity pants that don’t make you feel like a cow just for wearing them? I don’t feel like a cow in my sweat pants. I don't feel like a cow while naked. It has to be the pants.”
“When was the last time you spoke with your mother?”
She popped a shoulder, unconcerned. “’Bout three months ago.”
“Did she call you, did you call her, did you visit…?”
“I called her. What difference does it make?”
“It makes a great deal of difference, considering the timing.”
Baileigh blew out a breath and tipped her head back, attempted to count the dimples in the ceiling. “I called her. She talked about herself for an hour. I told her I had to go, we hung up. She didn’t ask for a new number, she didn’t ask what was going on in my life--she just assumed I was still in Texas. Still waitressing. Still a pathetic wannabe actress. In other words, she hasn‘t changed, she never will. She‘s the same self-absorbed idiot she‘s always been.”
“Why did you call her, then?”
“I don’t know.” She met the raised eyebrow with an annoyed glare. “Look--becoming a Slayer was like…like a seismic event. Everyone I knew before and I everyone I met since--there‘s this huge crack, right between them. I just can‘t…reconnect with any of them. My mom‘s on the other side of that divide--and that‘s assuming I‘d even WANT to, which, I don‘t. Maybe I was curious. Maybe I wanted to see if there was even a possibility to have…to have something.”
“It’s perfectly naturally to reflect on that sort of thing, considering what you were going through, Baileigh. Getting married, having a baby--of course a daughter would want her mother.”
“Yeah, well, guess I’m fucked, aren’t I?” Baileigh shot back irritably. “I don’t have one. Her loss.” And she shrugged, leaned back in her chair in a manner that said quite clearly, the topic was done.
Well, we’re married, so I think it stands to reason that yes, we live together. It’s us, our two dogs, and…huh, in about four and a half months, a baby.
Of course, we were living together before then--yay for living in sin? Personally I don’t think you should marry someone without living with them first. I mean, really--people have quirks and habits that can, potentially, drive you nuts. You should be aware of these things before you take a step as big as marriage.
It’s funny…I used to be one of those people that had to have their own space. I’d never lived with a guy before. I hated to feel smothered. I wanted my space for me. My things. My towels and my underwear drawer and my stuff in the shower and bathroom put up just how I wanted it. I didn’t like feeling…crowded.
And then Spike shacked up in my basement. Of course, I didn’t really have to worry about him encroaching all up in my personal space because we weren’t like that, and he didn’t really eat anything save for the occasional cereal or vanilla wafers crushed up in his cup of blood (which, hm, I haven’t eaten vanilla wafers since then, come to think of it), and he was pretty good about replacing any booze he drank (he was more of a beer guy anyway, and I hate beer, so), and if he left the toilet seat up or put wet towels in the floor I could just, you know, punch him. Still, I think things worked out pretty well. It was a good stepping stone. Having a roommate, to living in a dorm type environment with the girls, to living with Julian.
And honestly, he’s most definitely the easiest to live with, and I’m not just saying that because I love him.
He never forgets the toilet seat.
