in the morning

I wake up to the quiet.

The dim light of early morning is peering through the blinds. Beside me, the Mr. sleeps, his curly hair tousled, his cheek pressed against the pillow. Peaceful.

I close my eyes again and curl into him. In his sleep, he shifts, drapes his arm across my bare, bony ribs, and pulls me closer.

The alarm breaks the illusion. He shifts, throws the covers off, and gets up to hit the snooze button. When he returns to bed he pulls me close again, his warm breath against my ear. I try to pretend again, that we can stay this way forever, but that alarm still rings in my head. It's morning. It's another day. Another battle.

Because getting up in the morning is like going to war.

The alarm keeps going off, and eventually the Mr. doesn't return to our warm nest. I'm better at pretending, so I stay curled under the blankets, eyes closed tight. I feel the bed shift beneath his weight as he sits next to me. I crack my eyes open, and he smiles. He hands me my water bottle, silently. I take it and close my eyes again, clinging to my lingering pretend world.

The rattle of pill bottles forces my eyes open again.

The Mr. patiently hands me each pill, and I feel like a baby bird as I obediently swallow them down. Pills to keep me from being sad. Pills to keep me from being anxious. Pills to keep me from feeling sick. Pills to keep me from having a baby.

A baby. I've imagined this baby for a long time, but she is fading from my memory.

Maybe someday. I keep telling myself, but it feels like a lie.

I give up and get up, trying to blink the exhaustion from my tired eyes.

"Do you have baby names picked out, just in case you ever have a baby?" My friend asked last week. 

I paused, a sort of bitter hurt encasing my heart like stone. "Yeah." I finally said.

"Are they secret?" My friend teased, grinning.

"No." I smiled, but it felt sad. "I would name her Eloise."

I stand in the shower with my lover, my husband, my best friend. He has his arms wrapped around my bare shoulders. My cheek is pressed against his bare chest. We stand that way under the hot water, quietly together.

He would be the best father. Of that, I have no doubt.

But I am broken. A reluctant replica of my own mother on a path of self-destruction. 

There is a dull ache in my chest, but my eyes stay dry. Because I take pills to keep from being sad.