want to cuddle up and stay in bed with a good book.
John yawned loudly beside her, sleepily patted her bare thigh with his long fingers, then rose in a swoop in a beeline for the bathroom. Every morning it was the same; while she lay in bed with a thermometer stuck in her mouth, he’d shower, shave, then make coffee. When did their lives become so routine, she wondered? She knew the answer—since she’d started her campaign to have a baby.
She pulled the thermometer out of her mouth and squinted her eyes at the itsy-bitsy numbers that seemed to be getting harder to read these days. Surprise shifted her mood and her mouth eased to a grin as she brought the thermometer close to her nose.
This morning they’d break the damn routine! There was a definite rise. Sitting up, she reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the pad of paper that charted her ovulation for the past six months. She had a dozen books that showed graphs and charts of what ovulation should look like. No definite pattern had become apparent, which was driving her crazy, but this month even a dummy in science like herself could see a clear dip-rise of her body temperature.
“John!” she called out, thrilled at the first clear sign of ovulation she’d had so far in this grueling ordeal. “Get your butt back in this bed. Look! I’m ovulating!”
John ducked his head out from the bathroom. Half his face was covered with shaving cream but over the white his brows scowled. “Now?”
She heard the irritation in his voice and it nettled her. “Hey, I don’t plan these things. But take a look. It’s a beauty. I’m talking textbook case here. We’ve got to do it.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m running late as it is. I’ve got to be on time for the building inspection.”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
He gave a short laugh and muttered something under his breath about how she’d got that right. Annie could feel her temper rise.
“You know what I mean…”
“How about tonight? I don’t have the time right now, and frankly, I’m not in the mood. I’m sure your egg won’t dissolve in a few hours.”
“I can’t tonight. I’m booked with pro bono appointments, remember?”
He put his hands on his hips and thought. “Okay then, lunch. I’ll find a way to meet you here at, what, twelve-thirty?”
Annie frowned and shook her head. “I can’t. I’m in trial this morning. Damn, this is harder than arranging a business meeting.”
“That’s what our sex life is beginning to feel like.”
“Well, whose fault is that?” she retorted, flipping back the covers and rising in a huff. “Every time we make love lately it’s wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”
John’s face colored red against the white shaving cream. “That’s because that’s how I feel. I get called to service you on a minute’s notice. You lie there like a rock and afterwards you don’t say anything, just prop a bunch of pillows under your hips and watch the clock.”
“Thanks a lot. You know damn well that’s to increase the chances of fertilization.”
“Knowing it doesn’t change the fact that it cuts out any of the cuddling and talk we used to do after sex. I’m getting really sick of this routine, Annie. Sick and tired.”
“You’re the one who wanted a baby!”
“Not just me. Don’t throw that on me now.” He paused and she could see him visibly collect back his anger and calm himself. “And I do want one,” he said, his voice conciliatory. “But why can’t we make a baby like other couples? Why does it always have to be so manipulated and controlled?”
“Because frankly we haven’t been so lucky in the conception department, have we? It’s been eight months, so this isn’t exactly as easy as we thought it’d be. We need to increase our odds. I’ve done the research.”
“Research…” He shook his head, then faced her. “So it’s been eight months. So what? You do this with everything, Annie. When you want something you want it now. You forge ahead and leave no room for error. It’s do this, do that. Just look at the way you’re eating nothing but sausages and bananas!”
She stuck out her chin and her eyes flashed. “It raises the sodium and potassium levels in my body. You said you wanted a boy.”
“No, I said I didn’t care. You want the boy, Annie, and that’s what I’m talking about. Just having a baby isn’t good enough. You’re even trying to control the sex of the child!”
“You make it sound like I’m some sort of sex Nazi!”
“You are!”
“Well, I quit!” she shouted back, furious now. Reaching over, she grabbed the chart and tossed it in the air. The pages covered with little penciled squiggles fluttered in the air between them. “I quit, do you hear me? You can take this damn thermometer—” she picked it up and threw it at him “—and this whole damn project—” in a blind fury she grabbed the alarm clock “—and shove it!” She hurled the clock. John ducked and it crashed against the wall behind him, falling to the floor in a dozen pieces.
When John straightened, his shock and fury were evident in the tautness of his shoulders and the clenched fist around the razor.
Annie stood on the other side of the bed staring back, panting, arms at her side. A glob of shaving cream was hanging from his chin by a slim thread of soap. It thinned and fell soundlessly to his chest. He looked so shocked, so…funny standing there naked with a half-shaved face amid the rubble of an alarm clock, that she started to laugh. Now that her anger and frustration were spent, her mind cleared. It was always this way with her. When her anger flared she was blinded by a red smoke of fury. Once she exploded, however, the anger was gone and she let it go without a grudge.
Now, Annie was sorry for her explosion of temper, sorry that she’d goaded him, sorry that she’d thrown the clock. Sorry, too, that their love life was in shambles.
“You think this is funny?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied honestly. Then, with the smile disappearing, she said more soberly, “In a pitiful kind of way.”
“Well, I’m not laughing.” He turned to go back into the bathroom.
“What are we yelling at each other about?” she called after him. “I want to make love to you, John. Most husbands would be grateful to wake up to a horny wife.”
He paused and turned his head over his shoulder. It was sadness, not humor, she saw in his eyes. “Yeah, so would I.”
That stung. She felt the desire to fight flare up again, but she controlled it, instead flopping on the bed and pinching her lips tight. The rigidity of her shoulders and the tilt of her head as she stared at the wall spoke very clearly of her pique. Not just at the fact that he was being obstinate, but at the fact that she wasn’t yet pregnant. And more, at his seeming willingness to dump the whole responsibility for getting pregnant at her feet.
All that was left unsaid between them she understood clearly. It was her job to
