PPS 3-Ending in Conception

I'll stop blathering about politics and get on with the PPS story. Here's installment 3, picking up in DC at my aunt's house. It ends with conception. I thought about including a juicy sex scene to keep your attention but I refrained. It does have a sweet surprise at the ending though.



After dinner, Aunt Geneva walked us next door to show us our quarters for the stay We had originally planned to stay in a hotel. My parents and sisters were arriving the next morning and my dad had reserved a block of rooms at a hotel down the street. Fortuitously though, my aunt’s neighbors were out of town for the whole holiday season and offered us the use of their house. It was a much better situation for all of us, especially Sweet Pea, and we were delighted at their generosity.

“Now I know it’s not a child’s house, but I think you’ll really love it," Aunt Geneva says as she unlocks the door. We walked in to an entry way flanked by a cozy living room on one side and a staircase on the other. The floors were warm wood and bookcases lined the wall, floor to ceiling. There were books and treasures and interesting things to see everywhere. I thought to myself that these people must lead very interesting lives. There was a signed photo from the Clintons in the bathroom, of all places. They must have a sense of humor too. It was a home that is obviously occupied with thinkers and doers. I thought could spend my whole life here and always be happy.


Sweetening the pot, the homeowners were grandparents and our temporary abode came outfitted with a portable crib and an assortment of toys. We erected the crib in a small study area adjacent to our bedroom. Windows ringed the room at ceiling level and it was bright and cheerful, a good place for a baby. Next door, our bedroom was a lovely study in blue and white. Homey and comfy. Perfect after a day of travel.

After coordinating plans for the next day, my aunt headed home and Big B and I unpacked as much as we could while Sweet Pea flipped through a large basket of children’s books, ever the little reader. With everything in order, we drew a bath for him and begin his bedtime ritual. I peeled off his clothes and picked him up to set him into the tub. I glanced away as I set his feet down on the porcelain, checking out the artwork on the wall facing the tub and was startled by a piercing “Noooooooooo,” right in my ear. Apparently Sweet Pea was frightened by strange bathtubs. I struggled to get him at least rinsed off and then decided to call it a night. No one would notice if he is a little grimy behind the ears. Big B dug Sweet Pea’s pajamas out of his suitcase and got him dressed. We read a couple of stories, sang Rock-a-Bye baby and he was out. A big day for a little boy.

We tiptoed out of the room and down the wood staircase, flinching at every creak, to check out the rest of the house. We had stopped by a grocery on the way from the airport and had bought a few necessities, peanut butter, bread, diapers, beer. We each cracked open a bottle and sat down on the couch in the front room and admire the Christmas lights outside. We were trying to decide which embassy the lights belonged to when a movement outside caught Big B’s eyes and he whispered, “Liz, look, Santa’s reindeer are making an early appearance!”

“What?”

“Look!”

He lead me out the front door and there, across the street in the pocket of park next to the Kuwaiti embassy, stood two deer, grazing. We stood in silence on the porch, watching. It was an incongruous site, two deer in a patch of wood surrounded by electric lines, streetlamps and parked cars. We can hear the traffic on the next street and music coming from a couple houses down. I wished that Sweet Pea were awake to see this. I wished my parents were there. What a sight, two deer, in the middle of DC on the night before Christmas. I thought that this must be a portent, an omen of a magical Christmas.

Awed and humbled, we retreated upstairs to our beautiful blue and white room and sunk into bed. Inspired, we reached for each other and quietly made love.

Conception.