The days following Gretchen's visit, we do as we we're told, we make the effort to leave the house daily.
Now, this is not hard for Prince, he had left the house briefly a couple of times in past week. Once to donate the breast pump we had purchased, and to buy the manual one Gretchen had recommended. The next time was a quick trip to Paisley for a meeting of some sort, neither was very long.
This particular day we load up a diaper bag, pack a light lunch and get the stroller into the back of my car before we leave to pick Kirk up from Paisley, then we head to the Arboretum. We keep a thin, open weave blanket draped over the stroller as we walk throughout, mostly to protect Ramiel from the glaring sun, but also because of Prince's need for privacy. "Prince, he's a beautiful baby, why can't people see him?" I ask.
"It's not that I don't want people seeing him, I just don't want him exploited."
I shrug it off, I'll have to work on this as time passes. We can't keep Ramiel under a veil of secrecy his whole life, he is a child. Many people stop and look in our direction, but for the most part they do their best to try to look like they're minding their own business. When the random person would try to capture a cell phone photo of us pushing the stroller, Kirk was quick to approach them to politely and the phone would be pocketed. Kirk's protective manner and an angry glare or two from Prince was all that was needed for people to behave themselves.
News of our baby had drawn some attention from a local journalist who had been known to stir the pot, so to speak, about Prince in the past. She has now implied that our child might possibly be disfigured or unhealthy, like a previous child that Prince had fathered, so we weren't too surprised that there were people willing to try to get candid photos of our baby.
We stop at Paisley to drop Kirk off and for me to nurse Ramiel since he started his unhappy grunting just as we were leaving the Arboretum. Prince leads me into the Galaxy room for privacy, which confuses me because we had prepared a nursery here.
I make myself comfortable and situate Ramiel, removing a breast, he readily latches and starts to feed. Prince sits beside me and smooths Ramiel's hair from his forehead like he does on occasion. As his hand lifts from the baby, his fingertips intentionally brush over the swell of my breast. I look up from Ramiel to meet Prince's eyes, my breath catches when I see them lit with a spark of desire. My body reacts as it always has when I see this look in his eyes, but this time when my pelvic muscles clench in anticipation, pain radiates through my groin. I grimace and place my hand on my belly just under my navel, Prince's eyes quickly fill with concern. "Prince, I know that look," I say as I shake my head, "we can't do anything, I'm not healed."
"I know, but it doesn't stop me from wanting you," he whispers as he leans in to press a kiss to my lips.
"Trust me, I want you, too, but my body is not ready." The lingering dull ache from that one muscle contraction was more than enough to remind me of that. The whole second of desire that I felt when I looked into Prince's eyes quickly shifts to worry. What if I can't ever make love to my husband again without pain? This question leads to another, then another, each one making me feel less than a desirable woman, I don't voice these fears as I snuggle against Prince. All of a sudden Ramiel starts to grunt and fuss at my breast. He releases the nipple and his beautiful face scrunches, his mouth opens and an anguished cry is vocalized.
The cry is new to us, and we stare at each other in shock. Prince sits straighter as I lift Ramiel against my chest to soothe him. "What's wrong?" Prince is anxious.
"I don't know," I pat Ramiel gently and shush him, the crying stops as quickly as it started and he returns to his usual soft, unhappy grunts. I pass him to Prince while I remove my other breast, and by the time I take him back, Ramiel is actively searching for a nipple on Prince's chest. "I knew he was still hungry," I say as he latches and his mouth starts to work. Prince watches in fascination as I squeeze and pull on the nipple of the breast that Ramiel was feeding on first. Milk forms and drips freely, I wipe it away with a frown. I shrug at Prince, "He had to be getting milk," I say still confused at Ramiel's sudden upset. We shake our heads, and blow it off since Ramiel is again content and focused on his feeding. With our mini crisis averted, I forget about the anxieties that were plaguing my mind and Prince's subtle advances cease.
We stay cuddled together until Ramiel's suckling starts to slow, becomes sporadic, then stops completely as he falls asleep. We grin at each other knowing our baby is satisfied and full. I get myself put back together and with smiles and a silent wave at Monica as we pass through, we leave Paisley to head home.
Once we arrive at the house, I start to place Ramiel in his bassinet in the living room when I hear, "Sugar, let's go upstairs," it's that smooth as honey tone. Shit, I think, he's not done yet.
I swallow hard and follow Prince to the elevator, surely he's not going to persist with his advances after I told him we couldn't. When we exit the elevator, I follow him into the bedroom, but he continues on into the bathroom. I look toward the open door and head to the bassinet to lay Ramiel down. I hear the sound of water filling the bathtub, I sigh and sit on the bed facing the bassinet, dreading the fact that I have to deny Prince the attention he seems to be seeking.
After a few minutes I see Prince round the corner of the bed, he extends his hand to me, "Come on, Mama," he wiggles his eyebrows at me.
I stand, but when he sees my worried expression he frowns. "I can't," I plead.
"Yes, you can. I asked Gretchen if it would be okay and she said yes," he pulls me gently.
"What?" I stare at him in disbelief.
"A bath, Sugar," he chuckles, "nothing more, for now," he makes an unhappy face, "Come on."
I let him lead me to the tub, but once I'm there, I clam up again, I'm hesitant to get undressed in front of him. He moves to remove my dress and I look away, he stops. "I know you're bleeding if that's what you're worried about," he whispers.
My eyes get big, I was so worried about my saggy, leftover, pregnancy belly that I forgot about my sexy adult diapers. My hand moves to cover my face in embarrassment and I'm quickly pulled into an embrace. With a calm voice he begins talking to me, "Sugar, I love you, all of you. When we agreed to have a baby, we knew what was involved."
He pulls back and looks into my eyes, "When Gretchen said you were exhibiting signs of postpartum depression, I didn't believe her," he pauses to scan my eyes. "I told her, 'Not my girl, she's strong! You saw her in that delivery room, she kicked ass,'" he stops while I smile and chuckle in surprise at his use of the word ass. "But I saw it when I walked back into the bedroom. Sometimes being too strong can be a bad thing," he kisses my nose. "I want us to be happy, you worked so hard to get us here, we have a beautiful, healthy baby boy. All this," his hand rests on my belly, "is irrelevant, don't let it ruin what we have."
I stand there knowing this man truly loves me as he slips my dress over my head. His eyes show no signs of disgust as they rove over my body, only admiration at what it's accomplished. When he removes my bra, he kisses the reddened flesh where the straps have dug in from the added weight of my breasts. He cups my breasts, not in a sexual manner, but more in amazement at how my body is able to continue to nourish our child. His hands caress my stomach and he lowers to one knee to kiss my sagging belly as tenderly as he had when Ramiel was still floating in my womb.
He lowers the briefs, helping me step out of them, then assists me into the tub. I'm then surprised when he removes his clothing and joins me. "How else am I going to bathe you?" he asks sweetly as he lifts the sponge from its holder. It's all I can do not to cry when I see all the love he has for me in his eyes.