Not even a little guilty

I planned to meet Jamie and the kids at the pool around 2 this afternoon. I thought I would hang out in my office working on my fall class for a couple of hours after my summer class got out and meet them in the parking lot at 2 sharp.

Instead, I met Ben for a quick lunch, swung by Walgreens for a thick style mag, and hit the pool deck by noon thirty, where I spent a blissful hour-and-a-half in the sun. By myself. Stretched out on a lounge chair. Like the first 28 summers of my life.

The last time I lounged by a pool like that was the day I went into labor with Harry, June 13, 2006. I spent everyday between the end of school and his birth sprawled in a chair by my apartment complex pool in a teeny bikini watching my stomach lurch and twitch as Harry moved inside it. He was always still when I went in the water, and I floated a lot that summer, my belly breaking pool's surface, the rest of me blurry and submerged. Looking back on that summer and the gluttonous solitude I took for granted, I should have stocked up on thrillers and laid off the dissertation research books. And possibly the milkshakes.


In other news, Jack: Exactly like Ben only shorter.