One Day

Light streams lazily through the openings in window shade. Little motes of dust dance and twirl, seemingly unbound by the laws of gravity. They are free, truly free. Just as I am.

The batter smokes slightly as little bubbles rise to the surface. Far from traditional chef attire, I choose to cook in my ratty old T-shirt today. The clothe feels familiar against my body as I whistle some tune. I'm happy, so immeasurably happy. My chest feels light and my lips can't help but turn up into a smile. Praises to God form in my mind and are called out. "Thank you, Lord God, for all you have given me. For your Son, who died for me. For this day, where I feel so greatly blessed." The world seems to burst forth in a glorious display, even though I am in so common a place as my kitchen. The drawers seem a deep, earthy shade of brown. The tabletop's cream color makes me think of finest marble. The stainless steel silverware and ceramic plates, though they are nothing special, matter more to me than crystal goblets and gold platters. Not because they are mine. Because they are ours.

You walk into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes slightly. Your hair is a little disheveled and you have no makeup or fine attire. Then again, the pajamas and T-shirt fit you better than any crown and robe ever could. I catch your movement out of the corner of my eye, and turn around, spatula in hand, and give you a deep bow. "Fair morning, my queen." Your natural beauty dominates my mind. You respond, smirking slightly, "Your pancakes are burning." Even in the morning, you're a better eye for reality than me. Luckily, I save them before they become too charred.

I place them on a larger plate, one on top of the other, and set it in the middle of the table, with syrup and butter on the side. I serve you first, asking you how many you'd like, and using a fork to move them to your plate. I serve myself and we say grace. Every once in a while, I look up from my breakfast and stare into your beautiful face. Half the time, I see your bright eyes staring back, a look of serene contentment on your face. We talk a little about our plans for the day, but most of the meal is spend in silent adoration. We love each other more than words could say.

I dress smartly for my class. By this I mean, I put on jeans instead of my pajamas. You don't have work today, so you choose to wear yours for a while longer. "You'll come home early, remember? Tonight's our date night. We'll be making Indian food together and then a Bollywood flick." I smack my head. "Of course! I knew I asked for a sub today for a good reason. Thank you for reminding me, beloved." You peck me on the check and say, "You'd be a lost puppy without me, you know that?" I smile knowingly. I would, too. Before I go to leave, you take my arm and say, "Wait, the baby wants to say goodbye."

With tender care, I lift your shirt and place my head and hand against your belly. Within seconds, I feel a kick! Happiness flows through my body. This will never get old. Not if I felt it a thousand times. I hug you tightly around the waist and whisper, "I love you. I love you. I love you." You ask, "Are you talking to me or her?" "Her?", I respond, "I didn't know we figured out her sex." "We didn't. I'm just teasing with you, silly bean."

"Well, if she is a her, then I'm talking to the two most wonderful women in my whole life." And I mean it. Someday, Jessica, we can have this together. Just wait, and it'll be ours.