Chapter 6
The weight of the world
Amy
I’m going to be a grandmother again. The news should make me the happiest person in the world, but it doesn’t. I’m worried about my daughter taking on too much. Her last pregnancy wasn’t easy, in fact she suffered complications during childbirth and had internal bleeding. The thought of losing my daughter to something like that in this day and age doesn’t sit easy with me, yet I know it still happens. Just the other day a woman from church lost her niece after a placental abruption, something Miranda experienced so many years ago. In this instance the mother didn’t make it, but the newborn was hanging onto life on a medical support system. There was a huge prayer tree ordered, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
Maybe it’s just my nerves. Our lives are usually so laid back, but this event takes a lot out of me. I feel like it pulls all of us in different directions, and even though it’s for the best of causes, it’s strenuous and exhausting. Menopause has been kicking my ass. I’m in my fifties and I feel every bit of it. I may look like I’m in shape, but I feel like every limb in my body wants to give up.
After breakfast most of the kids go off to enjoy their Saturday. Cassie and Logan are involved in a serious investigation that’s requiring them to leave town, so I’ll be babysitting their son while they’re away. He’s a little charmer, to the point where he calls all women hubba bubbas. It’s funny, especially when it’s an elderly man, which he made the mistake of doing.
There was also another time where this beautiful young lady, probably no older than twenty was in line behind us at the pharmacy. He was strapped in a cart but managed to reach over and squeeze her boobs while repeating ‘hubba bubba’.
After that fiasco, where I was more embarrassed than the woman, I swore I was going to teach him a more proper word to use for a female.
After the dishes are put away, I get the bright idea that I want to make a casserole for supper. Pulling out the vegetables, I begin chopping them into chip sized pieces and layering them in a baking dish. I get the onions, potatoes and carrots done before grabbing the zucchini, which is usually the easiest the cut through.
I’m halfway through the first one when I hear a loud crash from behind me. A gut instinct is to turn around and as I do I realize I’m mid-cut into the vegetable.
The knife goes into my hand. Noticing what I’ve done, the pain instantly cripples me from reacting accordingly. I pull the knife from the palm of my hand and press the other against the wound. Blood is gushing out everywhere, and I still have to figure out what the ruckus was, and if my grandson is okay.
Turning around, I find him in the corner. There had been a nautical themed net with large conch shells the family collected on one of our beach trips. He managed to get a hold of the edge and they all came falling down on top of him. He was all tears until he saw the blood dripping down on the floor and then the room filled with screams. He was terrified, and I couldn’t blame him. The pain ripped through me as I attempted to console him while holding the wound closed.
After I wrapped a towel around my injury, I quickly propped him up on my lap and tried to call Conner. With no answer, I ended up getting Josh on the phone. Soon he’ll arrive and assess the situation. I don’t know what’s worse, Conner telling me I wasn’t paying attention, or his mini-me saying it.
While waiting for help to arrive, I try my best to comfort the weeping child on my lap. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m not invincible. None of us are. Accidents happen every single day and we need to always be aware. Nothing is guaranteed. I could have easily slit my wrist and been bleeding to death. I have to take better care of myself, or else I’m not going to be around to babysit, cook, or support my growing family. The truth is I’ve been in denial. I’m getting older and I have to come to terms with it. My body just isn’t what it used to be.
I just wonder if Conner notices the change. I wonder if I’m still enough for him, or does my crows feet and age spots turn him off. Sex isn’t what it used to be. I miss those days where we were carefree. I miss the fire we used to have. Now we’re those two people that share a bed, but not each other. I’m with a book, and he’s usually watching television. Our love remains, yet it’s concealed by monotony. With tears running down my face I decide I need to make a change. Just as soon as I leave the hospital, and track down my husband.